


Days Beyond

by Seraphzerox



Series: Sacrifice Reality [1]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Arcadia Bay, Attempt at Humor, Bad Jokes, Character Death, F/F, Gen, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, Pool & Billiards, Post-Canon, Post-Save Chloe Price Ending, Strained Relationships, Supernatural Elements, Time Travel, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Urban Exploration, weather manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-04-17 02:43:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 152,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14178798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraphzerox/pseuds/Seraphzerox
Summary: Three urban explorers learn the hard way that the abandoned ruins of Arcadia Bay are anything but tranquil as danger awaits them. As he is imbued with abilities of his own, Connor and his friends become interlopers in a plan that could unravel reality as they know it. Once saved by mysterious women named Max Caulfield and Chloe Price, the new team must grapple with paranormal abilities, conspiracies and painful memories.3rd person limited ranging from Max and Chloe to OC POV-chapters.





	1. Sweet, Sweet Memories

**By Seraphzerox, originally posted on AO3.**

 

 

**Chapter 1: Sweet, Sweet Memories**

 

_March 15 th, 2015_

It had been at least three years since he last saw them. Connor suspected for a while that, despite their unshakable bond, they might never see one another again. Fast forward a few semesters, several phone calls, money wiring and domestic flights, the three amigos reunited. They had spent so much of their youth together that when they discovered their divergent college paths, it was devastating news. But that was all in the past, because right now they were driving down Ventura Highway with plenty of sunlight ahead.

His eyes followed the pine trees racing their SUV, occasionally catching up on something more interesting before losing sight of it. Moving to Florida for college deprived him of the scenic drives through the Northwest countryside. The conifers had been replaced with palm trees, the numerous hills with flatland and artificial beach. It wasn’t all bad, but how could he have forgotten about the beauty in his backyard?

“Hey Quantico, where are we right now?” The daydreaming Connor looked up to lay eyes on their friendly neighborhood Hyram D. Auteberry, upbeat as usual. His enthusiastic grin was hidden behind his thick dreadlocks, surprising to even believe the young man could see the road ahead of him. A grin that infantile always meant that he was about to give someone shit. Hyram noticed Connor’s sudden interest in him and shook his head boisterously before resuming his road watch.

“I’m reading,” the agitated shotgun passenger replied. “Check the GPS.” Her name was Aubrey Snyders, the reserved beach blonde pragmatist of their group. Connor gave her a lot of respect for balancing their friendships with her curriculum while also maintaining her sanity. She claimed to love reading, but this was the first time he’d seen a book in her hands since the 11th grade. In fairness, he hadn’t seen her since then, so what did he know?

“You’ll still be reading after you check it,” Hyram turned the steering wheel, directing them down a fork in the road. “Don’t you miss your hetero-normative friends?” A smile escaped Connor’s face, knowing exactly what he was getting at. Maybe he shouldn’t find it amusing, but Aubrey called herself a libertarian; the kind that was really confusing to summarize. With such strict, Christian parents growing up, Aubrey had found her youth rebellion later rather than sooner. She had only scratched the surface of issues in the world, but she was definitely on the right side of things. This was normal banter for the two of them, even in their group chats. That didn’t mean, of course, that Hyram avoided touching a nerve once in a blue moon.

“I wouldn’t call either of you _normative_ in any sense,” she rolled her eyes from the page she had been reading to the two of them. Her hands were occupied with locating the next page to turn to, and judging from the sly smirk getting comfortable on her face she was about to shoot something slick back. “Besides, I thought you favored the flatter shoe.”

Connor tried to process what that meant, and what it was supposed to mean. The driver had nothing to say in response, leaving an awkward moment in the car. After an unbearable twenty or so seconds, it hit him what she was _trying_ to say. And god, did she have the wrong idea about that phrase. “I don’t think that saying works here,” he corrected her carefully, though the graceless phrase lingered on in his head. Aubrey retracted her confidence and hid behind the book, as if that somehow erased the haywire vocabulary. In a very predictable manner, Hyram returned to save the conversation as strong as ever. _Ladies and gentlemen, these were two adults preparing for lucrative careers._

“But if I _was_ a woman, I sure would!” He sharply announced, tapping the wheel to the music that just started on the radio. So, he understood what she had meant. Connor was a little bit sorry that he had doubted the driver’s knowledge on dumb jokes; after all, this was _The Joker_ of jokers. On to the choice of music, Hyram had always been a progressive rock kind of guy. The rest of his family thought it was weird, for reasons Connor wasn’t even going to touch upon. Even if he personally thought it was a tiny bit strange, given the sour experience he’d had with the prog-rock fans, Hyram was not one of those people. Apparently, Hyram wasn’t done speaking as he turned up the song on the radio and tilted his head back towards the passenger seats. “Connor, don’t you dare override my Bluetooth again.”

“So I hear you gonna get the _legal drug dealer_ award,” Connor mused, though still giving some contemplation back to the earlier moment at the airport where his phone decided Hyram’s wasn’t worthy of Aubrey’s stereo. “Tell us about pharmacy school!” The driver quieted, passing a comical glare around to all the passengers. Aubrey, who had ventured back to the conversation, returned to her book as fast as he had noticed.

“We’re on spring break. We don’t discuss our problems.” Hyram said, reaching towards the passenger seats to grab his ragged backpack. “How about instead we brainstorm on this urb-ex we’re about to do.” _Oh, right… the whole reason we’re doing this trip._ The Spring Break reunion wasn’t necessarily all pleasure, from a certain point of view.

“I haven’t heard that terminology in years,” sighed Aubrey, keeping her eyes on the latest page of her novel. Connor rubbed the left side of his face, recalling the nickname frequently used on esoteric forums. Urban exploration, the art of rediscovering abandoned places, was one of their youthful pastimes that landed them in plenty of trouble over the years. It also handed them a decent following online, although recently that following was neglected. They had at least thirty or so videos uploaded, a couple thousand views on each. The last major get together they had done involved sneaking into a nearly demolished hospital in San Jose, so their next prospect was far more exciting than anything they’d done before. Unfortunately though, they had a hard time scheduling time to do videos, and with their separation, it had been nearly impossible to keep up with vlogging.

“Right. So, about this place,” Hyram directed towards Aubrey, the ringleader of this trip to elaborate. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t discussed it before, but Hyram was relatively ignorant to the details that Connor had come to understand during his net digging.

“Arcadia Bay,” she declared with sorrow. “It’s no Centralia, that’s for sure, but it’s much more gruesome. About two years ago, a monster tornado came out of literally nowhere and hit it straight on. A miracle that remains of the town even,” she trailed off, having stopped reading by then and completely withdrawing from the conversation. Connor understood the place they were headed to was extremely new on the scale of abandoned, but he didn’t get why Aubrey’s reaction seemed so personal. After all, it was Hyram was the one who had suggested they tackle it, not her. She had closed herself off nearly mid-sentence on the last bit.

“What’s the matter?” he asked her with consternation. Rather than answer him she stared off out of the passenger window, stroking the now closed book’s spine with her fingers. Hyram shot a quick glance at him and then back to the road. Clearly, the driver didn’t know what was up either.

“Arcadia Bay was, uhh, my stomping ground until I turned fourteen,” she revealed. “Imagine my shock to learn the fate of my town. So I’ve been kinda bummed out about it.”

“And now we’re doing a paranormal special in said town?” Connor questioned with a drawl, upset that she hadn’t said a word to him about it. They didn’t have to do this; there was no one holding a gun to her head that demanded she go along with it. So if she was really feeling it hard about the trip, why not say anything. _Please tell me you aren’t doing this just to make us happy, Aubrey._ Now aware of how touchy the subject was, Connor wanted to avoid perturbing her on it. Their destination had been hit by a disaster, where actual people died. People who had _just died,_ no less. It was slightly distasteful in his eyes, even though he had agreed to it, but now the last thing on his agenda was to disrespect the dead or any memory Aubrey held of them.

“Hey, it _was_ paranormal,” Hyram became defensive. “There were a lot of weird anomalies reported that week,” his fingers waggled while he gripped the wheel. Perhaps he had done some information gathering after all, but he hadn’t told the group about it during the preliminary stages of the trip planning. “We’re talking about beached whales, dead birds, double moons! This isn’t just some innawoods story Aubrey found on the Paranormal board.”

“You talk like I know what the _Paranormal Board_ is,” Connor had been listening intently to every bit that he mentioned, getting caught up on the double moon portion. He did recall some news article discussing that impossible event, but then Hyram went weeb on him and Connor lost his place. Paranormal Board sounded obvious, yet he had never heard of it before. As a matter of fact, he didn’t know what the hell _innawoods_ was, either. Of course, there was much to appreciate in his dear driver for their skill of retaining useless information.

Remembering most of Hyram’s mannerisms, Connor caught suspicion on the tip of his mind about why Hyram had grown defensive. Something he oftentimes enjoyed to do to break the ice was use humor, which he would gradually ease up about. Most of the times he pulled it off, but the backseat passenger wasn’t convinced this was the proper time. “Don’t you think it might be too soon to make a video that runs ad revenue off of this?”

“No ads,” Aubrey explained, the sorrow she wore slightly suppressed. “Of course I want to be respectful about this. There’s plenty of sad to Arcadia Bay. A lot of personal baggage for many folks.” He detected something more to her connection with this town after hearing the way she described it. How many people did she know from the place? _Oh god, how many people_ had _she known_? “We’re going to camp out, get plenty of footage, and then we’ve got an interview lined up. Easy peasy.”

“With who?” Connor asked, worried about the person of interest. Given the change from discussing people of the town to this, could she have found a survivor? The picture was becoming clear for him on why she found this trip so important.

“Some guy who was there the day before it happened,” she closed her eyes, her shoulders rising and then dropping as she exhaled. “Dunno his actual name, really wants us to use his online handle.”

“Yeah,” Hyram sneered. “Think he could’ve picked a less popular DJ name.” What he could gather was that it wasn’t exactly a survivor of the town, but rather an interesting visitor. The rejoinders given by his two friends brought a local anecdote to mind that he had sent them a few months back.

“You know the saying,” Connor began, and the three of them spoke in unison.

“Someone in your home town is still trying to become a rapper _,”_ they spoke in almost perfect unison, which had been especially welcoming coming from Aubrey. They gradually turned to stare at one another until Connor cracked first. They laughed pretty hard, knowing well that they knew at least four people from LA doing exactly that. There wasn’t a real reason for why it had been so funny; in truth, it was only worth a chuckle. Maybe it was sharing space with two people who made his life worth living. He was so glad to be back with them.

They eventually returned to their own devices, and Connor resumed daydreamed the boredom away. They’d left the forested hills and were driving along a sparsely populated Oregon highway. He wished they could see the sunny beach from the comfort of the truck, like the drives back in Florida or California. He had never imagined how great it would feel to be away from school and all the crazy “Florida Man” scenarios. _Jesus, maybe one day I will be Florida Man_. Eventually, Connor’s conscious touched upon his rich past with the driver and fellow passenger. Another unseen smile danced onto his countenance.

He had met Hyram in elementary school, and for a few grades they hadn’t really said a thing to one another. They were very unlikely friends, given the type of people they had been at the time. But one day, Connor had somehow accidentally taken the other boy’s milk carton in the lunch line. That didn’t sit well with young Hyram at all, who had auspiciously threatened to kick his ass. After the suspension, it was one of the fondest memories they never spoke of. The reality was that somebody had just swiped his chocolate milk and then placed it on Connor’s tray. He had always suspected it was this little shit named Bryson, who had it out for Connor simply because their teacher liked him more. As it turned out, it was not the jealous little boy. When confrontation turned to conflict, the saboteur—an old acquaintance he could barely recall came clean about the swiping. Connor and Hyram laughed it off and ignored the kid for all of eternity. That culminated in a life-long bond that, despite their hectic living arrangements, never shattered.

Aubrey was extremely important to them both, yet she was still a newcomer to their circle. She currently lived on campus near San Bernardino and provided the wheels for their get away. He had met her in high school through a miserable group report on _The Great Gatsby_ , and they kicked it off from there. _I really, like seriously, hated reading that script disguised as a book. Couldn’t get into the characters, understand the tone. I thought something was wrong with me._ She had loved it, and that love had saved his grade. After that, they began hanging out frequently, and without any convoluted feelings. What he valued most about their relationship was how straightforward they were. They had _the_ friendship that confused most people. “How could you two _not_ be dating?” people would ask. He never once saw her in that light, she was simply too important to waste on relationships or drama. A big reward from this was simply the gift they shared of unspoken words. He could read her better than even her pretentious boyfriend—which was a topic he wouldn’t get into right now.

As for himself, he grew up moderately privileged. Connor was lucky as hell that his family had enough foresight to plan a college fund, but he never knew what to do with his education. Even now, already powering through his Associates, he couldn’t imagine a single career perfect for him. Most of the time, it was his family pressuring him to keep going. They never actually asked him to sit down and plan out his future, he just rolled with it and they were so proud of him. All of that empty encouragement could be catching up to bite him in his ass. There were a few skills he had, like cooking and public speaking, but what good would either of those do for him?

Hyram had landed a scholarship, getting to attend one of Indiana’s top university. Aubrey knew so precisely what she had wanted to do, already eating up her Bachelors in Criminology. _Her bachelors, for god’s sake! Look at her, already blowing past us._ Connor barely got by even with the support of his family. He had a professor tell him once that the reason he was sitting in class was because he had tried just a little bit harder than everyone else did in high school. But once he got to college, all of his classmates had the same experience he did. Bare minimum would no longer cut it. Worse than that, he slowly lost the chipper motivation that got him into college to begin with. He wanted to know what it felt like for his friends to keep at it, like they were infallible in their pursuits. What had driven them to work so hard that he lacked?

“Heads up, Jill Stein.” Hyram flicked his thumb to the window, directing Connor’s attention to the lane beside them. As he scanned the road, they passed an old, worn out pickup truck that barely met the speed limit. Inside, the driver was the stereotype of rural, smoking a cigarette and wearing a shoddy camouflage cap. The red truck bed carried a pole holding up the infamous red and white stars and bars Connor often loathed seeing back in Florida. This driver had to be unapologetically _Southern._

“We’re in the Pacific Northwest.” he groaned as their car started to match pace with the truck. “Why am I seeing the traitor’s rags?” The further he observed the truck and it’s driver, the less annoying it was and the funnier it became. They had a Washington license plate and the truck bed was filled with old electronic devices next to the battle flag. _This was a high-tech hillbilly_. Connor wondered if he looked back at their cramped SUV and thought they were from Commiefornia.

“I want to make a joke,” Aubrey lifted her head from her book, a sly grin emerging. “Involving a certain letter.” Of course Aubrey wanted to make a Civil War joke. She really did love history and it’s expansive lessons that were always ignored in contemporary problems. He even thought he might know what her joke was going to be about, something regarding a Bixby letter. _Maybe Baxter. Hell if I know?_

“Cool, won’t get it. Hate history,” he warned her.

“With your political interests, you hate history?” She appeared genuinely curious, raising her elbows slightly as if to gesture. He met her gaze and nodded in affirmation.

“I’ve seen enough of that crap already. Don’t need a history lesson to know it sucks.” Connor saw the truck slow and turn off on one of the exits, leaving them alone on the road once more. He was right. History was boring and depressing. There wasn’t a single fact that redeemed the subject for him, especially concerning politics.

Actually, there _was_ something he wanted to do with his life. It was so vague and undisciplined that it would never happen. His goal in life was that he wanted to help people, and to make the world a better place. _Sappy as fuck_. With such a naive goal in mind, he hadn’t filled in all the blanks as to how he’d accomplish that. Would he be a superhero, or a stressed administrative assistant? If more heroes were real, then history might lure him back in. Unfortunately, every hero he had ever learned about had a dark side to them.

“Roger roger,” Hyram remarked. “Tack that onto the list of things we don’t talk about: Politics, Religion, and Aubrey’s browsing history on tumblr.” The woman took offense, swatting at him with the book. He chuckled instead of uttering a riposte and swiped her hands away, letting the car veer toward the center of road temporarily. The driver was filled with jokes today; he had been since they spoke with him on the phone during the drive to the airport. _Now that he mentioned it… what does Aubrey look up on tumblr?_

It only took a minute or two before they had returned to their duties. Aubrey fiddled with their brand new camcorder and the joker continued driving, his progressive rock returning to the stereo. All in all, they’d been on the road about four hours since the last hotel. They should be nearing the dead town very soon. He had conducted further research last night, concerning any possible hazards that could be laying about. They brought the appropriate footwear to protect against sharp objects, but watching their footing was also advisable to avoid tetanus. Being in Beaver State during the spring meant he got to avoid dousing himself in bug spray unlike Sunshine State, where mosquitoes practically vacationed the entire year.

They barely touched upon the possible police encounters they might have in Arcadia Bay. While the place was ground zero for conspiracy theorists, he had found numerous posts online about interlopers who had been caught by cops and turned around. It would be a pretty bland trip if they just showed up right as a patrol car slid by. The other option was to hide their camp and hope nobody sneaked up on them, something that the three of them had been leaning on to start with. _Can’t be too careful with how crazy people are in the world._

The last time he did a proper exploration, it had ended with a police escort off of the property. All over an abandoned neighborhood near Tampa, too. Florida had a terrible thing where all of the unused land was left alone while the rest of the abandoned sites were bull-dozed and paved over. Well, it was terrible for an _urban explorer._ He also learned that being caught trespassing as a young adult is a completely different level of discretion than being caught as a teenager. The officer had taken pity on him and let Connor go before the other cops had arrived. It could have easily gone the opposite, and then Connor would have had a criminal trespass on file. Such easy ways to ruin one’s life motivated the young man to make better decisions when it came to sneaking around.

“What do we have here?” Their driver broke the silence, prompting Connor to scan the road ahead of them. About a half mile down the road, a dark four-door sedan had been tucked just off the road. The vehicle was partially obscured by the invading forest, though the darkened shape was difficult to miss even from their distance away. “My spidey sense is tingling.”

“Highway patrol?” Connor asked, adjusting his eyes to the range. He couldn’t see any indication that it was police, but it fit the description of an unmarked undercover vehicle. He didn’t _think_ they had been speeding, but he didn’t remember what the speed limit even was at this point. _When was the last time we even passed a speed limit sign?_ They probably had nothing to worry about anyway.

“They wouldn’t be hiding like that,” Aubrey closed her book from the spine. _Damn, I hadn’t even noticed she went back to reading._ She squinted towards the scene and they all noticed two individuals standing outside the vehicle towards the front. They wore nicely tucked coats and had papers spread out on their car hood. He could discern a man and a woman, giving him that Mulder and Scully vibe. They appeared to be talking, but it was impossible to know what the mood of the conversation was. From the looks of things, the blond woman was visibly frustrated, having a palm pressed to the side of her face while the man’s sunken posture indicated disagreement between them. Eventually, they faded from view as the SUV blew past.

“What’s your verdict, Aubrey?” Hyram addressed the criminology major, who was already searching for a way to answer him.

“Heh, I think they may be lost?” She looked in the rear-view mirror as they drove farther away. “They look way too much like Agent Doggett and Reyes to be cops.” In an instant, Hyram’s hands had released the wheel. Before Connor could start to worry, the driver began to clap.

“Finally, a joke I understand!” He shouted, receiving another look of ire from their misanthrope. Connor understood the joke as well, but anyone who only watched the first few seasons of the _X-Files_ wouldn’t. This time the banter didn’t break down into violence and Connor sank into his seat, wondering how far out they were now. They had passed several overhead highway signs, all of them he had forgotten to read, but Hyram must have found the proper exit ramp because they merged off of the highway.

Connor perked up in his seat, eager and ready. He caught his reflection in the driver’s side rear-view mirrors and was impressed with his shave. His brown hair could do with a trim very soon, but he kept himself extraordinarily well compared to the mass sitting on Hyram’s head. _How have you not gone blind?_ Aside from the black t-shirt and faded gray pants, the slim rose jacket he wore half-zipped with thin epaulets and fake pouches on his breast made him stick out like a sore thumb. The jacket was way too cool for him not to bring with him on the trip, and so it would remain.

After five more minutes of empty road, they passed an old sign reading “Arcadia Bay City Limits”. The gorgeous northern imagery was supplanted by the first glimpse of destruction. While nature was hard at work reclaiming its rightful land, the scattered remains of civilization resisted. They were finally at the heart of the proclaimed “decade’s biggest mystery” on the web, and he couldn’t control the sense of urgency in his stomach. Did he want to jump straight into it, or was his gut telling him to run? Something was off about this place, and he hadn’t even set foot on it’s streets yet.

It could have been the shotgun passenger’s disclosure about her life here that had forced him to be unsettled, or it could have been the sheer feeling of how small he was in comparison to the gravity of the situation. They were about to set foot in a city that once had at least a couple thousand people, extinguished overnight. It was like a modern day Pompeii. In the front seat, Hyram cracked his knuckles and Aubrey decided to string up her hair with a band she had kept somewhere on her person. It was close to showtime. _I’ve wanted to ask if she stole that from a Lemony Snickett character for so long. I wouldn’t put it past the bookworm._

“The audience will love this stuff,” Hyram reached for the camera in Aubrey’s seat without taking his eyes off of the scene engulfing their car. “Let’s get drive-in footage.” Aubrey took his hand away from the camera and opened it up herself, suggesting that he should remain focused on the road. He heartily returned to driving, slowed to a snail’s pace for the video’s benefit. She pressed the record button, and the indicator that it was recording lit up.

“Connor,” Aubrey politely signaled for the black dufflebag to his right. That would be their equipment bag, containing the camera’s tripod mount and numerous other goodies. He grabbed and unzipped it, waiting for her to elaborate on what she needed. He noticed the respirators that Hyram worried they had forgotten were indeed packed with the supplies. Hopefully they wouldn’t need to wear them for this operation. “Pass me the notepad?”

“You could just use your phone for this,” Connor reached around inside of the expansive bag until he found her leather notepad with the pen holstered in its side. He effortlessly tossed it up to her and she glared at him before opening up to a fresh page and taking down notes on the experience, as she always did during their trips.

Connor was itching to get out and stretch his legs, but he couldn’t shake the disquieting feeling he got from Arcadia Bay. Even after rolling the windows down and listening to the pure sound of nature roll in, he got a taste of the adventure ahead. No noise pollution what-so-ever. They were totally and utterly alone. He knew that this would turn into a very long day, but whether the day would be wondrous or ominous remained to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised for consistency, 7/12/18.
> 
> Hello, everyone. This is my first time posting fan fiction in probably 10 years. TheOV really inspired me to get back into it, and since I'm writing a full novel this serves as good practice for me. I intend to follow an entire story. Chapter 1 is fairly short, and this changes as the pacing progresses.
> 
> #1 I strictly adhere to the canon whenever possible. This means that nobody survived an EF6 storm, Arcadia Bay was effectively knocked off the face of the Earth. No surprise cameos from people who were there that night. Sorry. 
> 
> #2 While the first 7 chapters do focus tremendously on our new characters, our two favorite heroines begin to show up around chapter 8. I have sprinkled bits and pieces of the story and references to the first two games throughout until then. I really enjoyed writing those, and I sincerely hope you enjoy reading them as well.


	2. Exploring Necropolis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor explores the remnants of Arcadia Bay, learning quite a bit about Aubrey's childhood in the old town.

**Chapter 2: Exploring Necropolis**

 

After ignoring the “SAFETY HAZARDS AHEAD” signs plastered across the town entrance, they drove straight into the town. The plan was always to scout it out from the safety of Aubrey’s SUV before departing on foot. Connor hadn’t expect that to take as long as it did. For such a little town in Oregon, Arcadia Bay was pretty spread out and big. It reminded him of his days getting lost traveling through central Florida, when he stumbled into sparse cities surrounding Orlando. The charm that they had was a totally different atmosphere from what presently waited in front of him. The Bay pierced deep into the mainland, hiding much of its contents. Most of Arcadia Bay had been built with suburbs in mind, and they accompanied the old private school named Blackwell Academy. The rest had been left to the local industry, something he learned was failing due to the influence of a powerful family. _King Midas Prescott or something._

The cracked roads were clear of obstacles, in contrast to the catastrophe displayed in each city block. It was apparent that there had been some attempt at cleanup, but equally apparent that it had been abandoned shortly after. Every time Connor saw something new, it told him a story about the inhabitants. The small town felt bigger now, with a weird sense of life that stuck around even after the rest had gone. An old school neon sign for a car dealership caught his eyes first, as did the disfigured whale sign protruding from a nearby building. Being there still didn’t sit quite right, but his immersion into Arcadia Bay had started. No random vehicles or police cars so far. Connor hopped it would stay that way for the duration, or at least until they left for the hotel.

He certainly got his wish of an idyllic waterfront view. The sandy beach was no exception from the rest of the place though, littered with pieces of metal and just about everything else under the sun. He imagined what the life of an average kid would’ve been like there. _A northern beach was still fun at certain times, right? Except when dead whales o-plenty wash ashore._

Hyram had no chill about his excitement, rushing into the streets with the camcorder to record his opening thoughts of the ghost town. They had done one drive-through, and already he felt comfortable enough to get out and do his own thing. It peeved Connor for a while, but he knew Hyram would get their attention if it was necessary. The extrovert always meant well, despite some tendencies. If he was out on his lonesome, that meant a voice-over from Connor was imminent on their introduction video. He often did the speaking portions of their videos, with narration and monologues followed by on scene thoughts from his two co-producers. It had earned him the nickname of “narrator” to commentators on the show.

While Hyram roamed the streets with the camera, Connor and Aubrey had set up on the beach front. They were technically going over points to note for their walkthroughs, but it slowly turned into Aubrey reminiscing about her life in the town. He went through the photos of the aftermath via his cell phone, with Aubrey taking notes for narration on her notepad. The photos were hard to look at, depicting cars lodged into walls. Corpses were discovered dangling from telephone poles. So much destruction seemed unlikely from mother nature, but that was the allure to the “Arcadia Bay Storm” fever that swept the darker parts of the internet for months. If he could just balance that with the other aspects that he had stressed on, it would keep him a humble visitor to the ghost town.

The cellular reception was terrible, to put it lightly. Images failed to load on the first, and second, third, fourth try. Service lasted anywhere from a few to less than a minute. They were close to giving up on preliminary notes and going to join their energetic friend. The shoddy reception paired with the general atmosphere would make for a great horror movie setup. He half expected to look over his shoulder and see something that wasn’t really there.

“You think Hyram’s finally gonna find slenderman?” Aubrey asked, underlining in pen. “Cause he requested we add in an edit as a joke one time.” She was taking the whole experience rather well. It was more than he expected of her, with all things considered. She was a tough girl at heart to hold it together so well right now, though it wouldn’t hurt for her to talk about it. Her random question paired with his thoughts of tropes, and he knew precisely what to reply with.

“You’d sooner find bigfoot up here,” Connor said, laying back into the sand. “If anybody could find him, it would be our cameraman.” All humor aside, he was booking it back to the car as fast as possible if they suddenly experienced any random nosebleeds or distorted video. He was _not_ going to be that kind of vlogger.

“Your editor vows not to cave to any video alterations.” She threw up a feeble peace sign, following a smile that Connor perceived as proving him wrong about her thoughts of conflict. It was possible he was looking too hard and she was actually perfectly fine. “No matter how many views it would grab for us.”

“Just so we’re clear, I would like a memorial text crawl on the end of this video,” Connor informed her, receiving the gradual nod along from the girl. “I got a powerful vibe when we parked and got out. Like this place is resonating with me.”

“I mean,” Aubrey paused from writing, “there were already legends surrounding the Bay pre-storm. It’s something we can include in speculation.” She sounded forced, like trying to channel her inner Hyram and failing at it. For someone who could always get a good feel on someone’s emotions, Connor was stumped on what direction to take. She was definitely trying to cheer up, but how successful of a job depended on one’s opinion at this point. In Connor’s opinion, he might as well just bring it up instead of speculate.

“Are you comfortable right now?” he asked without the pretense of business first.

“Yeah,” she smirked away her distress. “Just overwhelming that I’m sitting here.” With that clarity added, he got what she meant. There was something more to it than just the thrill of exploring the ruins of the city. It was an unexplained phenomenon that had killed hundreds—possibly thousands, he wasn’t actually sure how many people had lived there—and coupled with the sheer desolation left his sense of discovery liberated from memory. It was so far yet so close to life as he knew it, the concrete jungle merging with end of the world stories he had only read about as a kid. This kind of intoxication was rarely felt after the first or second time exploring a location. He had rekindled a spark that was lost in piles of schoolwork and expectations. That same spark was now battling his reverence for the place.

Beyond that, there was also an urge to uncover the truth about what had really happened with the storm and Arcadia Bay. It was a fool’s errand, he accepted that from the start. The idea was still so appealing, to find what the others failed to find. He thought about what could happen if the rumors were all dispelled and a real explanation emerged. It would put rest to the souls that were lost to the town.

“Also, my house,” Aubrey muttered. Her house was the first destination on the drive-through. To her confusion, her old home wasn’t simply affected by the storm; it was completely gone. As in, there was no indication whether it had been wiped out or simply demolished before the storm. She wasn’t really upset over the fact, but he had to give her sympathy anyway. She had been looking forward to seeing what was left of it. The blonde broke from her seat in the sand and, beckoning for the narrator to follow her, wandered back to the road.

Maybe he _was_ reading into it too much. He decided it was best to join her and left the beach, crossing over the threshold into the dirt yard of an old establishment. From what he could see, it might have been a gas station. Eventually he walked through the maze of dilapidated structures, soon returning to the main road. Another component to the thrill was never knowing what could be around the corner. They could run into all kinds of unsolved mysteries, from animals to squatters. The only unsolved mystery he found placed her low-tops in the middle of the cement street. She looked eager to show him something, with her beckoning more insistent than on the beach. He picked up the pace to join her in the center of the road, waiting for his friend to show off whatever she found interesting.

“This used to be the spot of my favorite dining extravaganza,” she explained, her index finger trailing from one side of the discolored building to the other. “Pacific Steve’s.”

“Seafood?” Connor gazed over the lot, seeing nothing to indicate the trashed building was originally a restaurant. She hurriedly sauntered onto the sidewalk closest to the lot, making her way up and down the property. _Definitely trying to keep her spirits high. I should stop worrying about her so much, she’s freaking Aubrey I’m talking about. She’s got this._

“Pacific Steve’s Famous Crab. You tell me.” Connor didn’t want to lose sight of her as she left the scene fast, so he trailed after her. Finally putting away his cell phone that he had out since the beach, he matched her pace while she started naming off all of the old buildings. They had lost Hyram already, but if the signal held, he would only be a phone call away. “God, Connor. I used to take the bus from this stop all the time.” Connor stared the sidewalk where she drew attention to, dumbfounded. Any hint of a bus stop was gone. “Well, yeah. It used to be a bus stop.”

Suddenly, his stomach growled, accompanied by light discomfort. He was still stuck on the thought of fresh seafood, but he had gradually wandered into thinking about deli foods like a wrapped sub. “Damn it, now I’m really hungry,” he whispered to himself. The everyday amusement wasn’t lost on the girl, as she rubbed her own stomach at the sound of his.

“Aren’t you hot in that big ass jacket?” she asked him, reaching out and playing with his fake pockets and shoulder epaulets. He playfully shrugged her off, pretending that she was wrong. Really, he was just a tad warm, but it wasn’t anything unbearable.

“Gotta look sharp and badass,” he assured her. He liked getting her to talk about life, because his own felt so underwhelming. At least the jacket made him feel cool. She seldom spoke about her childhood, yet it was a very important part of her life. It had to be, if she spent it in Arcadia Bay. _Still can’t fucking believe you never mentioned Arcadia Bay to us. Why?_

“Come on,” she beckoned once more, her legs already moving on. “Maybe we’ll run into our camera guy.”

The next hour was fruitful, with the two of them wandering around the town. He found himself photographing places more often than he usually did. They needed plenty to tack onto Aubrey’s blog, where she was already live-posting updates. The farther inland they went, the damage lessened by a tick. However weakened, the path of the storm remained. The skeletal remains of homes and buildings stood the test of time. All around them, a sea of garbage had taken over. Even with cell quality pictures, he felt like it captured the essence of the find: the city was helpless to forces outside of it’s control.

They weren’t doing too bad with a roughly ten thousand subscribers on the video side, and roughly as many subscribers on the blog. Of course, this didn’t do much for ad revenue, but he wasn’t interested in making profit. There was also the inactivity they had on their main channel. Scheduling was hell, so viewer engagement had dropped significantly. It was an issue he bet would fix itself once they did a proper video of this apocalypse.

They eventually found their way into the suburbs of Arcadia Bay, where damage remained consistent with tornadoes that achieved landfall. Rooftops laid in pieces across yards, fancy foundations were toppled down. Neatly framed windows were shattered, glass collecting to the debris dunes. Connor was processing too many images that he nearly bumped into the editor when she halted. Taking no concern with it, she fixated on the lot in front of them: a collapsed mess of cobbled pillars and orange bricks. He had a hunch she began to take him somewhere specific when they had left the main street, but he surely got lost in the spectacle surrounding them.

Aubrey’s hands were running through her hair, slowly moving to adjust the way her blue t-shirt sat on her body. “I knew this house like my own.”

“Like your own?” Connor tried to keep her talking, staring at the overgrown yard and imploded home. Judging from the size of the home, it was probably expensive. “Who’s was it?”

“Someone great. Her name was Rachel,” a frown came over her while she set foot into the gnarly blades of grass. “It’s been so long. I barely recognized it.”

“Rachel, huh.” Connor approached the patio in disrepair, thinking about the kind of picture the interior could have given him at its peak. “I see her family spared no expense.”

“That wasn’t her,” Aubrey promised, shaking her head as if Connor didn’t already believe her. “Rachel was pure. She wouldn’t hurt anyone. Her family was, eh,” she stuttered, dragging her hand across the fine cobblestone. “They were too serious. Missed a lot of what their daughter was saying.”

“So, I don’t mean to be that guy,” Connor poked his head into the residence, seeing it devoid of anything but more debris. He surmised the home had been recently ransacked recently. The wallpaper was torn and the walls blown open, likely for copper and wire.

“Connor?” Aubrey addressed him, still standing outside the door. “What’s on your mind?”

“Rachel. She didn’t make it out?” He carefully approached it. Aubrey locked eyes with him with an intensity he found common when she wanted his full attention.

“She was likely dead long before the storm,” she said. “Missing since April of ‘thirteen. I gave up hope.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered regrettably, returning to the patio. He reached out to comfort her and she met his hand with her own. “I had no idea, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all good, Connor,” she shot him a weak, sincere smile. “She was such a great person to me, one of the friends who didn’t get out of here. Always wanted to though, she’d be the first to tell you.” The girl paused, her eyes far from watering yet also on the verge of giving in to strong emotion. “Yeah. I’m pretty certain she thought I was a friend. She was too big for this small town atmosphere.” Aubrey pulled out her phone, immediately craning her neck down to operate it. “Actually, I can show you a picture we took before I moved away.” The pervasive thoughts of losing his friends sent a shiver down Connor’s spine, and the urge to grab her and pull her close was resisted. Again, Aubrey would ask if she really needed comfort. He always tried to remind himself of that fact. He decided it was time to check up on Hyram, drawing his own phone and moving to his contacts.

 

_Me_

_Hey ghost hunter. Signal working?_

_Hyram_

_Wtf you want, white boy?_

_Me_

_Just checking up on you. What’s up?_

_Hyram_

_Found this really cool desk ornament. Check it out!_

 

He opened the attached image, and jeered upon viewing the ancient eyesore.

 

_Me_

_An antique store bronze hawk. Bold. Brash. You know what comes next?_

_Hyram_

_Srsly? It’s fucking bronze!_

_Me_

_I know who to call when we need vintage office décor. Meet us back at the car in twenty, k?_

_Hyram_

_You got it!_

 

“Found it,” Aubrey waved the phone towards him, the glimmer of joy now back on her face. He focused his eyes until he could clearly see his best friend with her arm wrapped around a wide-eyed and bushy-tailed girl. She was adorable and fair-skinned, with the backdrop being somewhere he didn’t recognize. Aubrey’s short, blonde hair contrasted with the thick brown-haired Rachel. The blonde’s usually stoic demeanor was absent, and instead an enormous mid-laugh selfie was captured by her smug friend.

“Wow,” he admitted, happy with a new perspective on Aubrey. “I’ve never seen that much emotion out of you. She sounds infectious.”

“That was Rachel Amber for you. I didn’t have many friends. She was the polar opposite.” She looked over the photo once more before burying her phone in her jean pocket. “So, what do you think of the land of my people?”

“I think it needs some TLC,” he formed a frame with his fingers and squinted. “I think our new apartment would look great right about,” he aimed his pose towards the barren edge of the street, in a lush field of flowers. Her eyebrows rippled with her nod.

“Sure, living with you two. That wouldn’t go horribly wrong.”

“What’s wrong with three healthy, platonic relationships? I thought we wanted to set the example,” he joked. She crossed her arms and the obviously fake anger rolled off her next words.

“I’m glad you aren’t a hormonal idiot like most, but even sensitive guys don’t take an interest in home design,” she teased, returning to the road. “By the way, I just remembered something else.”

“What’s that?” Connor followed her, sharing a thought of farewell to the Amber residence. He wasn’t sure what else to say on the subject of Rachel, since it was really on Aubrey. It was just another person to commemoration their text crawl, since that was the most he could do for the missing girl.

“How funny the whole car phone fiasco was. Hyram was legit pissed for a few,” she said, recalling Hyram’s airport pickup. _Oh, right. That_. Since they were driving her SUV and Connor met up first, he naturally got first dibs on her stereo system. The oddity came from the fact that it _always_ connected to his phone, even while others were connected. He waited for Hyram to get his groove on and then immediately switched it to the loudest song he could find. Their energetic friend nearly had a seizure in his seat when the bass shook the cabin.

“Gotta admit, going from _Fleet Foxes_ to _Disturbed_ was a nice way to wake him up from his flight,” Connor chuckled, remembering the yelp that had erupted from their cameraman’s throat. “I don’t know what your issue is, but I love dangling that power over him.”

“Speaking of Hyram, we ready to meet up?” She sounded ready to move on, which was fine by him. He gave one more glance back at the house she had taken him to, and said his farewell. “We haven’t even figured out our camping plans.”

At a decent pace they returned to the main road, giving him a chance to absorb his first impression from a backtracked perspective. Each time they passed the big intersection, he looked towards the heart of the town. According to the map, that road eventually routed into the Blackwell campus. Blackwell Academy would be their final destination and with the midday sun shining over, they still had some time to plunder. Plus, it would be interesting to see if Hyram captured anything neat on the camera.

He felt the strange sensation in his gut again, same as it had been when they rolled into town. He checked his surroundings and slowed his breathing until the wind and Aubrey’s footfalls were distinguished. It was almost like the city had eyes of its own, and they were all on them. The hair on his back stood up, suddenly sensing they weren’t alone.

The instant a figure emerged from an alleyway, Connor instinctively drew his pocket knife. The netophile he knew to be Hyram jumped in surprise, losing grip on the items he carried. Once Aubrey saw the falling camera among the items, she unceremoniously dropped to her knees and caught it. Connor could’ve been sweating bullets in that moment and still wouldn’t express how sorry he’d be if their camcorder had been broken because of him.

“Crisis averted,” she gasped, standing as tall as she could next to the larger boys, which wasn’t that tall at all considering both he and the cameraman surpassed her in height. Hyram flailed his arms and took the camera back like it was a precious diamond. He turned his focus to Connor and punched him in the arm.

“Boy, look what you made me drop!” He pointed towards the shabby paperweight, now upside-down on the pavement. _That ugly ass bronze hawk? Really?_

“I’m so sorry, Hyram!” Connor felt so bad that he accidentally smiled during the apology, his lips twitching from the involuntary reaction. Hyram punched him again, this time landing above his sternum. Connor knew he was only kidding, but the second one actually hurt.

“Don’t be so jumpy next time. What’s up?” Hyram inquired, taking the undamaged camera back from Aubrey.

“Nothing, I swear. Just felt like we weren’t alone,” he brushed himself off. “The camera _is_ all good, right?”

The jokester opened up the camcorder screen, and the display flashed to life before cutting to the lens view. Everyone relaxed heir shoulders and sighed. Hyram started tapping through the buttons hugging the screen. “Yup, no corruption. No problems. But for real, you got a feeling?”

“I’ve had a feeling,” Connor’s eyes scanned the horizon of broken buildings. “This place is… terrifying, amazing, enigmatic.” _Probably sound a little silly right now, but I can’t shake this euphoria._ Hyram nodded with an entirely serious look of concern, something he hadn’t shown since their sleepy reunion at the airport.

“Just take it easy for a bit. There’s three of us. We got your back”.

They headed towards the SUV, about ten minutes away then. Connor’s suspicions subsided, with most of his time devoted to absorbing the scenery of the destroyed Arcadia Bay. The mental picture of people running for their lives in the monster storm left him anxious, and hoping to sit down in the vehicle to catch his breath.

So far, he was beyond impressed with this find. It was far more interesting than any previous visitor described it on the net. To top it off, he’d never felt this engaged on an exploration before. His restraint towards the city slowly faded as he became enthralled in the uninhabited town. Aubrey had lived half of her entire life on a city block that had been wiped out, and that alone was beyond crazy. Although the town still gave him a fight-or-flight gut feeling, he would give the camp out a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised for consistency 5/11/18, see Chapter 8 note.


	3. Chapter 3: Arcadia Bay Boogaloo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyram's insufferably upbeat attitude masks the insecurities of his life. Will his friends figure it out on their own?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, ladies and gentleman. We're getting very close to the good stuff. I would appreciate feedback on these new characters. Do you think you've learned enough so far?
> 
> Revised 5/11/18. Nothing much was changed, just introspection and character details.

**Chapter 3: Arcadia Bay Boogaloo**

 

A little after midday, they had regrouped at Aubrey’s beige SUV. Hyram really liked driving her vehicle, and had already called dibs on the trip to the hotel. He’d barely scratched the surface of this urb-ex site and already he had thirty-five minutes of footage. There was so much to absorb from the Bay, it was like a giant playground crafted just for curious adventurers like himself. It hadn’t quite sunk in how morbid the town was until his sleepy mind wandered backwards in time.

He kept running it through his head: ducking for cover with cyclonic winds whipping at the edge of his sight. He’d been through a serious hurricane once when visiting Florida. The cold, pitch black had remained on his mind for years on end. He still saw the night sky light up in an explosion from the power lines going out, coupled with a tree yanked from its yard and flooded roads. That was at least a category two hurricane, and the residents of Arcadia Bay had experienced something like an EF-4—winds surpassing one-hundred fifty miles per hour. Aubrey meant it when she said this place had a miracle to still be standing. Hyram was glad to be in the moment, instead of Arcadia Bay pre-storm.

Speaking of Aubrey, she was excited over all his footage. He knew the poor woman would be slaving in the editing chair for hours to get a perfect video, and it wasn’t just a perfectionist attitude. The quality on this one, especially this one, would be elevated to the highest priority. Her life began in Arcadia Bay and she’d want justice done. _Connor looked a little bit pissed about that, didn’t he? I should’ve told him before hand._ He understood fully, even if they thought he didn’t.

In honesty, Hyram wanted to cut back on the amount of footage. They’d brought a terabyte external hard drive and numerous solar battery packs, enough to last for their whole rendezvous. He had plenty of room to go nuts with recording, but he didn’t want to put the editor through that. She was such a hard worker, way more than he was. _Wonder which projects she’s procrastinating on to do this with us._ She didn’t need a ridiculous burden tacked onto her schedule.

And Connor? Boy, he’d barely aged a day. He stopped growing in the 9th grade and seemed steadily consistent with his personality and goals. Hyram had four siblings but not one could compete with good ole’ Connor Papworth. His adoration for the young man was familial, a brother from another cloth. If he hadn’t found time to visit him, Hyram would’ve lost his mind.

Hyram’s hard-pressed future wasn’t by choice. There was nothing left for him back in Cleveland, and jumping ship to Indiana was the greatest decision of his life. Muncie had its own drove of problems but objectively, was improvement. With his parents gone and his family a constant reminder of everything he wanted to ignore, he had left Ohio to pursue a better life. He hated himself for dropping everything and flying away. It was abandonment, for the benefit of his mental health. Pharmacy school was his way of righting the wrongs his parents had committed.

“Houston to USS Denzil Auteberry?” A dainty hand flapped in front of him. His wit would be spot on.

“Good evening, this the USS Auteberry, checking in after some turbulent brainstorming.” Hyram replied, examining Aubrey’s outstretched palm. In it was his favorite snack: delicious, mouth-watering gummy bears. _Okay, that was sort of an exaggeration_. He loved him some gummies, and snatched them up and immediately.

“Hungry much?” Aubrey inquired, staring at him gravely.

“That would be me,” Connor raised his hand from his nap in the backseat, then tucking them back into his eccentric jacket that struck him as something Michael Jackson would keep in his Neverland closet. _If Connor wanted to dress up for this, who would I be to tell him he’s missing a tee-hee in his dialogue?_ “I forgot how hungry I was.”

Hyram savored the sweet gummies as he chewed, refusing to even consider how often he had eaten gummy snacks in life. How he had avoided gingivitis was a question for God. If they needed real chow, they’d have to set up camp and begin meal preparations. “We goin’ anywhere specific?”

Aubrey murmured her answer, and when no one replied she spoke up. “I’d like to stop by my old house again.”

“Coming right up,” Hyram cricked his neck and placed her keys in the ignition. The vehicle started without a hitch, and they were back on the road. He recalled the route they had taken on the initial drive and remembered the first turn on the right. He used the turn signal out of habit, laughing to himself upon the realizing it. Aubrey wanted to know what was so funny, but he didn’t want to ruin the mystery. _That, and it wasn’t actually that funny._

Hyram noticed her stereo automatically connected to Connor’s phone for the third time. Any notification that blared off of his phone would come out of the speakers by default, and the trio didn’t know how to fix it. It was frustrating, but he still had to smile at it. Connor was getting hit again if he pulled some crap like the airport shenanigans. Hyram wanted some extra winks after being cramped into a three person seat with a feuding French couple. _But hey, if I hadn’t been woken up, I wouldn’t have taken over as driver._

After getting his bearings, he started planning the trip by the landmarks. Aubrey’s empty lot was close to the old church, coming up on their left. While obviously a church from the snapped ivory cross in the lawn, the rest of it was completely unrecognizable. His mother would’ve cried if she saw it.

“You can turn right here,” Aubrey pointed ahead. Hyram complied, rotating the steering wheel right. The memory of the small neighborhood came back to him, from when they had arrived. She got the privilege of a delightful, tucked away cul-de-sac right down the street from the Two Whales Diner and a place of worship. Aubrey’s family must’ve enjoyed it here, but the lack of opportunities probably drove them away. That was always an issue with small towns. No matter how much he loved the open air, lack of traffic and decent manners, the bigger cities gave more for life.

He grabbed the gear shift and placed it in park, hugging the driveway entrance to the empty lot where her house used to be. She opened the door and marched towards the center of the drive-way, taking the black tripod with her. _Sentimental pictures, perhaps?_ Meanwhile, Connor remained sprawled out in the back seat, the dufflebag balanced between his legs. Hyram thought he was pretty comfortable.

 _Too comfortable. Someone should fix that._ Connor would find a gummy bear suddenly stuck to his face. The narrator jerked up from his napping position and pulled the red gummy off. Hyram had no idea how that could’ve possibly gotten there, since he was busy playing on his phone.

“Hey, schmuck!” Connor was up close and personal, over the center console. The gummy ended up smashed firmly into Hyram’s face, in a jabbing motion. The driver’s surprised slap caught Connor across his visage, grazing his nose. It took Hyram a second to realize what just transpired before he raised his hands in a poorly disciplined kung-fu manner.

“Hello, grown men,” Aubrey waved from the right back passenger door, placing the tripod onto the floor. “I can’t leave you two alone for even sixty seconds?”

“I was sharing with Connor,” Hyram insinuated fast, before Connor’s protests could be heard. “He said he was hungry!”

“You’re being a nuisance,” Connor raised his chin in contempt from the backseat.

“Whatever. I’m all set,” she stated. “Just gonna email these to John and Kendall.”

“How are Mr. and Mrs. Snyders?” Connor politely inquired, while Hyram moved the gear back in drive. Hyram thought about it, and he had never actually met her parents. From what he had learned about them, they might not like him for subtle reasons he prayed would never come up.

“They’re doing good. Were worried about my trip. Too bad they can’t stop me.” Aubrey returned to the front passenger seat and they looped through the cul-de-sac until they popped back out into the belly of the beast. The scene was starting to blur, with so much damage becoming a backdrop to the road. It wasn’t that he grew bored with Arcadia Bay, but the novelty was wearing off.

When he turned a corner towards the intersection, he spotted two vehicles parked in the middle of the road. The two old cars were side by side with their windows rolled down. Hyram slowed the SUV to a crawl, observing the unknowns. He hadn’t planned on other visitors, and his curiosity was growing. After questioning the speed, or the lack of it, Aubrey noticed what was ahead of them. She fetched Connor, who joined in on the tension.

“Best guess is they’re just talking,” Hyram guessed, trying to peer through the tinted windshields at the back of each vehicle. It wasn’t unreasonable to believe some people stumbled across the town, or they were there to explore just like them.

“Why are you driving towards them?” Connor inquired, a buried yawn coming from the back seat.

“Because,” Hyram grinned. “If they’re doing the same thing we are, then this would scare the shit out of me.” He inched the SUV closer, the speedometer barely registering at all. A suspicious, uninvited car on their tail would raise eyes for certain. They were close enough to see heads inside of the car interiors, and they had stopped talking to one another and were instead peering through their rear-view mirrors.

“Hyram,” Connor prodded. “Don’t you think this is reckless?”

Without requiring further exoneration, both cars burned rubber and disappeared around the corner as Hyram came within passing distance. That’s how he knew they were a bunch of kids driving, because no true adult would wear their tires out like that. “See?” Aubrey did not appreciate his rolling eyes, as she placed a palm on her forehead and grumbled. “We were fine.”

“We were a gunshot away from being not fine,” she began to lecture him, her face still lowered into a palm. “That was sketchy as hell!”

“Shut up,” Hyram dismissed, annoyed. They should have trusted him more than this. “I had control fine!”

“Relax Mad Max,” Connor said slickly. “Just pointing out that we’re stuck here for three days. Do you really wanna piss off the redneck mafias?”

Hyram had tried to have a little fun and now he was being chastised for it. He was back in Muncie, listening to his colleagues banter about jargon and boring life goals. _Maybe Muncie isn’t as great as I think._ Once again, he found himself questioning whether something was wrong with his head and why he did the things he did.

When Connor tried to press him on pharmacy school, what would he have said about it? That he had no life outside of his school work? Or would he enjoy hearing all about the global pharmaceutical market’s three hundred billion dollar value? That hydrocodone was the most commonly used prescription? No. None of that was interesting. Hyram didn’t go to pharmacy school to love and express it. He went to pharmacy school so he’d never go through that home life pain ever again. He went to pharmacy school so his future family would never have to go through it, either.

That’s why this trip was his idea. He didn’t want to give everything up from his old life. Connor and Aubrey were his greatest supporters, he would never do anything to lose them. So when they both came down on him like this, he felt uncomfortably sensitive over it. He brooded in silence, turning left into the intersection and headed towards the old private school. Remembering the radio, he switched the stereo over and chose the first station to play Rock.

The next five minutes proved godly quiet, with the radio filling the gap. The criminologist stared out the window, her eyes widening at every single turn they passed up. Every change in her face indicated an individual thought she had, and probably had a mental bucket of so many from raising hell here as a child. Connor looked neutral, not really doing anything but also in his own head-space. Trying to guess about what Connor was thinking always landed him in a totally wrong conclusion, so he gave up long ago. Hyram felt reserved and tense, his hand practically squeezing the steering wheel, until he could change the subject to the tattered chain link fence encompassing the wild football field. Most of the roofing from the school had ended up in the center of the field, along with four scuffed up floodlights. The bright sun had started its journey to the other side of the Earth. He checked the dashboard clock, reading 5:34.

“Were you slated to go here?” Hyram decided to try speaking again, that it would be easier to work his nerves off then just sit on them. The Arcadia Bay native thought about his question for a moment, and then scoffed.

“I wasn’t entitled enough to go here,” she blew off the idea. “I still wonder how Rachel survived.” Connor’s face in the backseat brightened at the mention of Rachel, and Hyram felt left out of the loop on the identity of this new person. _Must be someone close to her from before._

Before he could say anything to reply with, he rounded the corner to reveal the dystopian high school. Where white steps led to an empty fountain, telephone wires were pinned down by the shattered edifice. He couldn’t tell just by looking where the tower came from on the school. That was Connor’s forte, if the random web links he had posted about architecture and home design meant anything. He noticed a flag pole shoved through a window towards the left side of the main building, a few dead tree stumps where once-great pines likely watched over the courtyard. A single birch tree survived the carnage, thriving near the fountain. _Life finds a way_ , he thought.

“Woah,” Connor uttered, having sat up at some point and rolled down the closest window to peer out at the sight. Hyram couldn’t blame him. The mountains seemed to engulf the campus from afar. The outline of a concrete fence ran along the perimeter, showing many places to pull Aubrey’s SUV up into the courtyard. They would need to check the journey for anything that could slice her tires before hand, but they found it. They found _the_ spot to set the theme for the web series: Blackwell Academy.

Fast forward to 7:30 and they had settled in splendidly. A warm campfire crackled at Hyram’s feet, reminiscent to the high school bonfire partying he had done years ago. Luckily this time, the drugs and drama were absent. Setting up their ad-hoc camp was difficult with the dying light, they sort of overlooked that aspect when planning their journey. The auburn 3-person tent was assembled in a half hour, with a second look over required after it deformed with the wind. Their sleeping bags, equipment, food and toiletries were stacked at an edge inside. The more expensive equipment would remain inside Aubrey’s locked vehicle, especially the respirators he had brought and paid for.

The campus parking lot was conveniently cleaned up and accessible, so the truck was left there. He assumed it came from the abandoned cleanup effort. With the campfire conveniently nearby if they needed a fast getaway for any reason, they had their contingency planned out. The parking sidewalk went through a cramped corridor and then back to the area they resided. They were fairly remote in their choice to set up, which hopefully meant they’d be left alone.

 _Don’t get me started about this school._ Hyram lifted his stick to run a marshmallow through, Vlad The Impaler-style. He then hovered above the rising flames, rotating it to cook his morsel. He couldn’t wait to pull the marshmallow off between two graham crackers and a piece of chocolate, the heat of the ‘mellow enough to melt the chocolate into a delicious coating.

Blackwell was pretty damn awesome. If he’d been there for high school, his perspective on institution would be much more positive. He sifted through tons of random fliers dated from October 2013, building a portfolio of items to take back home and put online. They had so many clubs for a private school, and some of the curriculum appealed more than his current path. The Blackwell Totem, the school newspaper, gave further insight into the week of the storm. Most of it was illegible from the two years of dust and weather, but he could grab snipits here and there. The school had a huge dance party the night before eradication called Vortex or something. It lined up with “DJ Doom’s” account of the events, the really annoying guy they were meeting for an interview. _At least the party sounded amazing. I could’ve had a blast here… except when I’d wake up to hell on Earth the very next day._

The classes were specialized, as were the majors. From what he gathered, Blackwell was an intermediary for college-level courses focusing on the arts. Students could get a leg up in the world if they attended. They even had the male and female dorms in the same building! It wasn’t quite co-ed as he was familiar with, but he’d never see that back in Indiana. Oh, how he missed the West Coast.

The fire’s reflection glinted in Aubrey’s eyes. Hyram observed the determined look she had, texting away on her phone. She was distant the second they set down to light the kindling, plunged into something on that tiny screen of hers. The campfire subjects bounced around, from movies, internet, politics and memories. Aubrey remained far from the conversations, instead choosing to bury herself in the phone. He decided it was time to approach her on it. It was _their_ vacation; if he was going to have her for only two weeks, then he wanted to utilize every moment.

Taking the marshmallow and creating the mastercraft smore, he set it on his lap with care to avoid spilling the melted chocolate on him. “Aubrey. Who are you arguing with?”

It was then she froze, her arms exhibiting strain. Clearing her throat, she shyly admitted, “Oh you know. The usual Jack.”

 _Not this again. Her boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, or…_ he didn’t remember, was named Jack Donnelly. He had all the traits Hyram despised in another man: grating personality, emotionally manipulative tactics, sexist and candidly prejudiced. Her parents worshiped the ground he stood on, because he would make a good man to take care of their princess. The only reason Hyram tolerated the fucker was because despite all the red flags, Aubrey saw something she loved in him.

“What’s the argument over?” Connor asked intently, seeing the disgust that washed over Hyram’s own face. He had let Connor take care of her for most of the day but this issue would require two heads to solve, especially if it was ‘the usual’. This would be the thousandth time an argument between Aubrey and Old McDonnelly had broken out.

“He’s angry that I’m spending my spring break with the two of you,” she hesitantly said, and he could swear that a vein in her forehead had suddenly flared up. Jack really hated them, and he better have. On what planet did he ever think he had any grounds to tell Aubrey who she could be friends with, especially when those friends have had her back far longer than he had even decided she was worth his time?

“Because he’s scared we’ll turn you against him?” Hyram said sardonically. “Cry me a fucking river. You deserved a real spring break.” He remembered the delicacy on his lap and proceeded to munch down on it, thinking that his point was made.

“He just told me it’s gonna be over if I don’t start putting him first,” she steadied her voice. Upon hearing the ultimatum coming from lieutenant assface, Hyram grew so angry that his smore slipped into the wrong pipe. He began choking, and before assistance could be provided by his pals he had ejected the remnants of the smore into the fire. Connor and Aubrey remained puzzled while Hyram caught his breath and wiped his lips, his eyes watering from the near death experience. Without further ado, Hyram rose from his seat and joined Aubrey next to the fire. Without a word, he grabbed hold of the fuming woman in an embrace. He reached for her phone and, consensually prying it from her hands, tossed it to the grass at her feet.

“You’re on vacation. Fuck everything about that,” he declared. “I’m tired of hearing about this, Aubrey. Let him make a rash decision, he’ll be the one kissing your ass in a few days.”

“It’s not always that simple,” Aubrey started when Connor shook his head and growled. Hyram could tell she was ready to drop the subject, although neither he nor the brown haired boy were going to. When Jack said something stupid, he was naturally going to complain about it.

“It really is,” Connor cut in. _Thank god for Connor_. “Out of all the guys at your university, you got stuck with Jack?”

Aubrey gave up her resistance and returned Hyram’s affection, wrapping her arms around his back. He closed his eyes and felt tranquil for an instant, letting go of her and moving his foldout seat next to her. She needed to understand that her boyfriend didn’t respect her in the slightest. There was nothing Hyram could do if he hated him, but he had to at least adhere to the standards Aubrey deserved. It gave him sincere satisfaction to hear how unhappy he was with her trip. He would love to just take her phone, snap a selfie of them having the time of their life, and send it to the asshole. Anything would be worth seeing his reaction to that.

“You do what you want,” Connor had joined at their side, rubbing her left shoulder. “We’re gonna put the bandaid on no matter what happens.” _Sure. Butter her up, Connor!_

“But really, I’m tired of hearing you take this shit,” Hyram burned, rubbing the other shoulder. “I know you’re fierce, so show some of it to him. The instant you assert yourself, he’ll step back and realize ‘ _Gee, did I push her to be this way?’_ It will drive him mad until he figures it out!”

“Figures what out?” She dreadfully moaned.

“That he’s a cockstain!” Hyram shouted, apparently that fact wasn’t known, or it was and she was just too blindly in love with someone who gave her attention to care.

“Alright, new topic boys.” She pleaded, giving him the much overdue hint to stop already. “Where are we doing the nighttime narration?”

Hyram released her shoulder from his gentle grasp, allowing the topic to shift. He knew she’d be done with Donnelly eventually, he just wished it could be sooner rather than later. She was always the dominant person in her short list of relationships, he just couldn’t get how she let this one be the guy to be overbearing.

“I was thinking the first floor hallway,” Connor said thoughtfully.

“Nah, I think we need the second floor,” Hyram’s sarcasm about the dangerous ceiling was unappreciated as the other two ignored it and continued on with the subject.

“What angle?” Aubrey returned to her notepad. “I was thinking about the gleam that the moonlight has right over the women’s restroom?”

He let the two of them figure out where he’d be standing and found his way to the nearest building. The old indoor pool was visible even from the barred door. The amount of money required to restore this campus exceeded his imagination. The pool inside was half filled, the water murky and brown. He wondered if life could find a way in the chlorinated stew the same way the land was reclaiming Arcadia Bay. The rest of the recreation hall was battered from thrown seating and indescribable items. The locker rooms and office were barely visible, the walls collapsed and buried by a caved in roof.

It wasn’t long before he pried open the door and cleared his mood, staring up at the gaping hole in the building’s ceiling. The night sky was prevalent and bright, something to always appreciate in the countryside. The lack of light pollution guaranteed a gorgeous overhead canvas to stretch across the lands. It hit him how early the night was, and how much time they still had to kill before tucking in. Everyone was committed to sleeping out in the tent, so he didn’t have to worry about them bailing last minute.

“So,” he whispered to himself, finally at peace enough to reflect on the call he had received from the police department in his hometown. “When do I tell them about you, Mom?”

He sensed something from his peripheral view. Blinking, he snapped to the movement to see a surprising sight. All on its lonesome, a light blue butterfly flapped effortlessly through the rec hall. It was the most beautiful thing Hyram had seen all day. It had markings similar to a Monarch Butterfly, but the color scheme was off. It landed on the remains of a chair, flapping its wings on the new perch.

“I guess that’s a yes,” he decided. “That’s a sign from you, Mom. I know. I miss you. I’ll tell them soon.” Neither Connor nor Aubrey were informed about the news. It wasn’t their burden to bear, but he was tired of holding it in. It terrified him to tell them how shaken he was, but the butterfly was a sign. There was something bigger out there pulling the strings to life. He smiled alone for the first time in a year, no longer worried about what his friends might think. They would have his back no matter what happened.

 


	4. Entropy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something goes horribly, horribly wrong during their filmed exploration of Blackwell Academy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go. There are no stops on this train. Feedback would be appreciated.
> 
> Revised 5/11/18 for consistency reasons.

**Chapter 4: Entropy**

 

Establishing a dynamic shot of the Blackwell Pool was a feasible start to the first of their recordings. While Connor thought it would better suit the audience if they had started filming from the very front of campus, he had caved when Hyram convinced Aubrey to start in there. What he expected to be a drained pool and discarded marine equipment instead turned out to be an ecosystem of wonder. The pool’s muddied waters maintained a secrecy that fit the aesthetic of their trip. Taking in the sight of cracked tile, the collapsed ceiling and the dirtied locker rooms, he was actually overwhelmed with what to talk about when it came to recording his narration.

The fact that they were in an inside pool pulled a tiny humorless chuckle out of him. _I’m too pale to be a Floridian_ , he thought, realizing he hadn’t visited a beach or even swam in a pool in eons. Recreational swimming wasn’t his thing, but he had always considered what it would be like as a sport. _The school’s swim team was, what—beavers? D-plus for originality._ He cleared his throat, thinking through all the information they had gathered on this portion of their walkthrough. They hadn’t written speaking lines specifically, but there were facts that they needed to touch upon. There was just so much he could comment on about the scenery. Without consideration, he clicked his flashlight on and off during the retrospection. Staring up towards the cameraman setting up the moment, Connor received a non-verbal cue from to knock it off. Once the narrator began to pay attention, his partnered actress waited for him to start. _Oh, fuck. Right. I’m up._ He started taking the prepared steps on the path they had designated for the video, Aubrey improvising it as she went along with him.

“Blackwell Academy was founded in the early nineteen-hundreds by Jeremiah Blackwell,” Connor said over his shoulder while the joker watched with the camera shortly behind. His face was stuck to the camcorder’s screen, ensuring his perspective was exactly what the camera captured Hyram had developed a soft spot for cinematography over the years and it sort of rubbed off on them. He adhered to the principle of “show, not tell” and was extremely particular about what the audience would be shown. In Hyram’s world, everything had purpose in a space. “The school’s motto was, _The future needs excellence.”_

Blackwell’s conception was sort of interesting in the sense of structure. They had five grade levels up until the final years, and their curriculum was insanely thorough for a private school. The funding required to maintain such an ambitious agenda in rural Oregon required guiding hands. Wealthy, guiding hands, as he would touch upon once they reached the _Prescott Dormitory_. Having attended a low-budget middle and high school kept him modest about his education. His school had everything that public schools could get, spare for a winning basketball or football team. Upon research into Blackwell, though? Unless his scholarship could fart rainbows, the cash required for the school would’ve burned through his entire pre-paid fund.

They had looped around the far end of the pool deck, noting the twisted metal steps and desecrated lifeguard’s post mangled into it. Aubrey was excited to explore what could be seen of the only room available. The collapsed roof made it impossible to access the second one, and they had no idea which sex theirs would belong to.

“So ahead of us, dear friends, will be a perilous gamble: which bathroom shall we walk into?” She accidentally shined her flashlight towards Hyram, who focused the shot over it as she pointed in the direction to the locker room a tad beyond the mountain of drywall. The damage to the caved in roofing was so severe that even the lifeguard’s office was inaccessible. Nevertheless, Hyram was covering every inch of it with assistance from their flashlights.

“I’ll give you a four letter word to indicate what locker room it turns out to be,” Hyram insinuated behind his lens. It at least made Connor giggle emotionlessly, to at least give the cameraman some satisfaction behind the infantile joke. Aubrey seemed unfazed, her strides never faltering as she precisely stepped over the broken glass and snapped wooden pillars. There could be asbestos in this old building, which would be a terrible way to find out you’ve got respiratory problems later in life. _Maybe we should have brought those respirators after all._

Connor did his best to peer over garbage mountain into the lifeguard’s office. All he learned from the task was that the garbage pile actually extended into the room and covered the floor. For some odd reason, the sight brought to him images from war. The mental picture of soldiers exploring wreckage for possible survivors made him contemplate about how first responders must have felt when arriving to Arcadia Bay’s beaten corpse, finding little to no signs of life.

They came upon the bent door frame to the locker room, and it was intact enough to comprehend that it was, in fact, a locker room. There were plenty of dented metal lockers still firmly placed in an orderly fashion, with juxtaposition to the lockers smashed to pieces laying about. Their contents also coincided with the littered pieces, giving Connor a good idea that they were in the men’s locker room. He had already reached the farthest end of the room, spotting thermal boxers so worn out that a hazmat team ought to be called in.

“Yup, boy’s locker room,” Aubrey held out her hand while illuminating the decrepit lockers for Hyram. He looked so into the moment that Connor wouldn’t ruin it for him. He wanted Hyram to experience this same high that he had received early in the day from urban exploration. They were at their best at that moment, reliving what few adventures they had under their belts from California.

Connor avoided more drywall that came apart and spotted the cramped bathroom. This is where he expected to find graffiti from the first explorers, but where the stalls should be was a single destroyed porcelain throne. His light captured a glorious extremity drawn onto the wall above, with the smudged words “Victoria loves the D”.

“You’re right, I found irrefutable proof we’re in the boy’s locker room,” Connor sighed with a disappointed smile. Why must men incessantly draw dicks everywhere the world can see? He had never once sat in the middle of a classroom, and thought, _I’m gonna draw a bunch of cocks on my textbook today._

They managed to find the entrance for the women’s room in the main lobby for the pool building, but it was more of the same from their previous locker room minus the dicks. The lobby outside both locker rooms shared the same untimely fate as the rest, with more walls torn out and another collapsed ceiling. They saw everything they could out of the indoor pool and decided it was time to move onto the money shots inside the main building.

They exited out of the front of the building, giving Connor another view of the courtyard under the lunar light. The single birch that survived oblivion seemed personified against the starry backdrop as the sole survivor of Arcadia Bay, proudly displaying its recovery. At his feet was an enormous white “B” shoveled into the dirt. _Did that come from a big sign or was it decorating one of the school’s exterior walls?_

“Found the other one,” Aubrey bent over to pick up a W and displayed it curiously to the cameraman. She must have felt pleased with herself discovering random letters in the wasteland of Blackwell. Connor betrayed his thoughts and his eyes evidently rolled, but then tried to apologize when she turned her back to him and promptly moved onto the next wonder of campus. All of which was caught on camera by the paparazzi right behind.

The student hall did not have a side entrance. Yet they found their way in through a massive rift in the building’s outward wall, undercutting one of the three second floor staircases. Whatever happened to this section of the building would remain a mystery. They entered the breach, and within an instant their editor made an inhuman noise. Connor reflexively caught her as she fell, propping her back up onto the remnants of the wall they stood on.

“We’re even for the camera now?” He remarked, letting go of her and grinning back to the camera. She whispered her thanks to him, and nervously smiled towards the camera. Hyram’s thumbs up gave him enough justification to keep going. He probably thought that would make a great scene for editing. He peered up at the numerous bits of the ceiling that were just bare pieces of wood and metal, the panels long gone. “So, as much as I want to peak at the second floor… It’s probably not safe.”

Aubrey swooped in to keep the lighthearted dialogue coming, pointing her light through the destroyed stairwell and upon the mess of a hallway. “Imagine hurrying to class in this once crisp and clean student hall,” she shuddered, giving off a chilled vibe. “Can’t believe I’m missing high school, honestly.”

The student hall couldn’t be described without multiple contradicting words. One that could be used was turmoil, and that was generally how Connor specifically saw the hall. Similarly to the pool deck, the lockers were chaotically tossed around and shredded by god knows what hidden beneath the rubble. He could just see an old burgundy banner that said “FISH”. The strong odor of dust and rotting wood couldn’t be shaken.

“Man, I’m sure Jack would be concerned if he saw how much fun we’re having,” Hyram quipped, earning him a dismissive glare from Aubrey. He better realize that he was walking a thin line with her on that problem right now.

“He could care less for things such as this,” she said, resuming her search and moving her flashlight around the hall.

 _Oh man, Jack Donnelly. Hyram’s lucky he’d never met her douche-to-be._ The guy wanted to be a cop, yet had the personality of a wet paper towel. Jack couldn’t even spare the bare minimum of kindness when it was made crystal clear that Aubrey was simply Connor’s friend, and one he cared about very much. The narrator knew arming that man with a badge would be the worst thing the country could do. The dude would also talk as if he wanted to just hear himself speak. Alas, any vented frustration would be a waste on that human filth. After his first real meeting with Jack, Connor hid his reservations towards Aubrey. He was offended that, aside from loving a soulless demon, she took his side over Connor’s on just about every issue.

She was notoriously stiff about love, and seldom found romantic attachment. Which always led to her either settling for less than she deserved, or pursuing one sided affairs. She would vehemently defend her decisions like a nation would for its sphere of influences. Connor loved her enough to keep up the fight, but after that fuss he had stopped. If he tried harder, their friendship would be put in jeopardy.

“To our left will be the kitchen and cafeteria,”she shined the light through the cafeteria door’s window slot, and Hyram approached from behind to peer in. “I was never much of a school luncher myself.”

“The computer lab is back behind us, B.T.W.,” Connor gestured with his thumb towards the hallway they skipped out on. His slight interest in seeing what the rich school’s technology department had on hand had not been previously expressed, although anything of value was likely long gone.

Hyram emerged from behind the screen with an incredulous frown. “Did you seriously just use an acronym in real life?” Connor gave him a judgmental frown in return.

“Says the weirdo that will literally describe people as plebs and betas,” Connor used his trump card to force Hyram into a metaphorical knockout. As expected, the Joker took no offense and laughed at his own expense. _Right, just brush it off._

“I’m not cutting that,” Aubrey informed them, casually dragging her light source across the hall while they moved on. “I need our subscribers to see how little you’ve changed over the years.”

“Well, that’s not good character development,” Hyram aimed the camera along the wreckage, leaving a venturesome fondness in the air. They had checked everything that could be examined, which in this case wasn’t much in terms of material. Anything that was interesting was stained beyond recognition or buried under the rubble. Of course, the now-atrium lobby would be their final stop for the student hall The rest of it would be filmed when they had daylight to work with, for safety reasons. Aubrey had previously described the front of the women’s restroom as a perfect shot for the way the moonlight played off of it. There was also a bulletin board they’d discovered upon cursory examination that she wanted in the shot, using something to write “Blackwell Academy” on its surface.

When they finally reached their target filming spot, the cameraman cursed loudly. Aubrey, who had spent a moment preparing herself for a full on introduction video, dropped her arms and awaited further input from Hyram. Connor was taken aback by the F-bomb due to his own introspection into the student hall, but they both patiently looked towards the boy and his dreadlock-hidden face to explain his outburst. “I’m out of space on this SD already?”

“What?” Connor questioned the claim. “You’ve recorded for maybe 45 minutes since we got here.” Hyram shook his head, an unsatisfied curved lip revealing his distaste.

“Its fine, we need to run back and grab the tripod anyway.” He whined, closing the camcorder. Issues like that would pop up occasionally, partially from the team becoming engrossed in the project. Backup equipment was easily forgotten in the moment. It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last, that these hiccups hit them.

“We’ve got all night,” Connor encouraged him, patting him on the arm. “Let’s just run back real quick!”

It was naturally an easy fix. They just had to walk back to the tent, acquire necessary equipment and then resume filming at the main hall’s lobby. From there, they’d explore the rest of the property until they finished up at the Prescott Dormitories. The Art room was something Connor couldn’t wait to narrate on about, considering the story that Aubrey brought up at the campfire. It took some serious digging before he verified her information on the school’s late art teacher, Mark Jefferson. There was something about that story which gave Blackwell a dark, sinister tone to it. A master criminal hiding in plain sight until that fateful week where the story of Arcadia Bay came to a close. Of course, Jefferson never faced penance for his crimes, as his capture had been only hours before the storm hit. Aubrey had a suspicion that he was connected to Rachel’s disappearance, though that the legitimacy of the claim remained dubious.

The friends were already across the grass and on the outside of the pool building when Hyram’s arm extended out in protest, stopping them in their tracks. Filming videos in abandoned places put Connor on a heightened alert, so if Hyram caught something he would always take it seriously.

After a tense fifteen seconds of silence, Aubrey whispered. “What’s up?”

Hyram’s eyes hadn’t changed their aim. “You don’t notice something is off?” He asked them, sharply quiet.

Connor started to look in the direction and see if he could figure it out on his own. Upon first glance, he saw all that was expected: their tent, the foldout chairs, the water jugs—and then he realized their campfire was snuffed out. They had left the fire with fresh wood and that was only twenty five or so minutes ago. For the flames to be extinguished, a single, disturbing answer awaited.

Both men looked to each other, each understanding the next course of action. They proceeded through the grassy field towards their tent, with the lights cut and dropping to a crouch. Connor kept glimpsing back to Aubrey and past her. That distinct feeling he had earlier in the day was back in a fiery instant. His heart raced and he could hardly contain the adrenaline that now pumped through his body. He was so ready to simply bolt if they had to.

They were twenty yards out, seeing no change to the suspiciously empty camp they had made. Nothing appeared stolen or missing. With what little light they had, it was difficult to gauge anything. In the darkness surrounding them, Connor’s fears started to play their usual mental tricks. The monsters were out in force, tugging at his mind and emerging from the dark with long claws, sharp teeth and sunken faces. Any moment now, he expected to smell the coppery odor of blood, or hear the shrill of a banshee.

They were ten yards now. It struck him that this could be the law, curiously checking out this brand new fireside chat. If that were the case, wouldn’t they have seen the glimmer of a metal badge or at least a squad car in the parking lot? The standard appearance of a police or even sheriff vehicle usually had white or black decals, and all he could see in the parking lot was Aubrey’s beige SUV. The more he thought about this, the less confidence he had that they could handle it.

They were within earshot of the camp, slowly and delicately approaching their burgundy tent. The wind picked up, adding a distant whistle to the land. Still, Connor heard nothing to indicate who had knocked out their fire. Was it possibly a strong gust of wind, then? Are they freaking the hell out over some strange weather pattern? The town was wiped off the map by a freak tornado, so wasn’t it at least possible?

That was when the shuffling of heavy feet and the unzipping of their tent revealed the silhouette of a trespasser. Their proximity to the back of the tent made identifying the intruder impossible unless somebody braved the edge enough to get a look. Connor could hear the slurred breathing and random noises coming from the subject. His heart rate shot up even higher than he thought it could go, and he saw Aubrey covering her mouth. Hyram appeared frozen in indecision on how to broach the dangerous situation. Unsure of how to handle it himself, Connor reached out and tapped Hyram on his shoulder. His friend came closer, letting Connor whisper in his ear.

“Plan,” Connor demanded.

“Grab the tripod and strike him,” Hyram conceded.

“Inside the tent?” Connor clarified, a contrived expression on his visage. “How about something feasible?”

“There’s three of us. I didn’t come all this way for someone to steal our shit,” Hyram was unsmiling about his suggestion. “Look, how about we just scare him off?”

“Scare him off?” Connor made a look of disgust. “Dude sounds unhinged. What if he has a gun or a knife?”

“Then we kick his ass, Connor,” Hyram formed a fist and knocked on his head, mocking him. “Keep up.”

“Why don’t we just call the police?” Connor’s suggestion was waylaid by Aubrey’s quick flash of her phone screen, indicating no service available. “Come on, at least try to call them.” Aubrey shook her head no with more reluctance than before. She mouthed the words indicating it wasn’t going to work.

 _Well, this sucks_. The bone-chilling utterances by the trespasser continued, hearing them overturn their luggage and sifting through their food containers. The unmistakable noise of a bullet being loaded into a gun accelerated this situation from dangerous to life-threatening. Both the cameraman and the editor got the same message, and Connor’s heart was about to explode out of his chest. _What in the fuck are we going to do to get out of this?_

Hyram grabbed them both and they were pulled in for a crouched huddle. “Look. I think it’s best if we get around to the car and get the fuck out of here.” He waited for objections or criticism. Connor had one, a very obvious and very upsetting one. He was happy that Hyram dropped the brawling routine, but they had a serious problem.

“Did you grab the keys out of the tent before we left?” They were running out of options as they ran the situation back and forth. The answer to the question was a strained no.

“Okay. Our only option left is to fall back and watch the guy,” Connor told them, noting that Hyram was still holding the camcorder. Something about that was grossly off in his head, but he failed to remember what brought the feeling to mind. There were more pressing matters, like the Amityville horror scene unfolding.

“Sounds fine to me,” Hyram said, rising to his feet. He extended his free hand out to Aubrey, and the usual double-take she gave him over such action was petrified by the next moment.

The hot air smashed into Connor’s nape before the crackling noise, and the movement of particles forced him to his feet. The tent rippled from the impact force while the trespasser pumped their gun. Connor knew what would come next if they didn’t _GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE._ Hyram yanked Aubrey to her feet and hauled ass back towards the pool. Connor followed pace unsteadily, his legs becoming a conduit of unknown stamina. The shapes of the nightly world were now irrelevant, with self-preservation the only thing on his mind. They had just been _shot at; t_ he hairs on the back of his neck had been _nearly singed off._

This was any urban explorer’s worst nightmare: to find a violent, murderous monster dwelling in the empty places. It was the ultimate evil in the world. Where spirits and creatures of the night frightened Connor, they didn’t scare him the way human beings did. There were a million and two questions as to who what where when why how racing through his psyche until he realized he had run the wrong direction and was now entering the Blackwell student hall once more.

The ricochet from a shotgun slug pierced a wall close to him, sealing his fate of hiding somewhere inside Blackwell. He had think fast, and the only thought he had was entirely risky on it’s own. Without further unsureness, he started hopping up the mismatched steps of the student halls to the second floor. What choice did he have at this point? If it was filled with hazards, then that put just as much stress on the would-be shooter.

The second floor was hardly sturdy, but he had no time to take in the surroundings. Connor began his treacherous quest to get as much space between him and this monster. He decided to take his first left, narrowly avoiding an exposed frame with nails. The loud crackling of boots on top of grainy rubble fired him back into full speed. He pushed through the mess and horrible scented ceiling panels until he reached an enormous wooden desk, something that he might be able to use as cover. He knocked on it and, realizing what it was, wanted to kick himself. It was particle board, the most useless and flimsiest thing ever created by man. He glanced around the room, hardly processing there was almost nothing separating the room from the night sky and nothing to protect him if he was shot at again. He kept shifting the weight on his feet, feeling cornered and helpless before a crack underneath his feet gave rise to a new concern. He stared down at the floor before the shifting weight under his foot gave way.

When he came to, he was in a very starless place. It definitely wasn’t Blackwell Academy, and he reckoned that it was somewhere completely unfamiliar to his life. There was nothing else to tell him where this place could be. The sensation of weightlessness took over, like he was suddenly traveling across models on the International Space Station. Slowly, the roar of a distant thunderstorm came into being. A flash lit up the way in front of him—a lush boreal forest, though something stood out—the sounds of distant fires, gunshots, and sirens. He started to move his limbs, getting a feel for the situation and floated down the beaten path. It had started to heavily rain after a few moments of floating, and as he continued the withered pine trees around him were pulled away like blades of grass. He grew warm, as the surroundings lit up from a dull and dark backdrop to a blazing fire.

The entire forest melted away, taking the raging blaze with it. Now, Connor could discern that he was high off of the ground. He was so confused as to what was going on, and before he could figure anything out, the darkness faded revealing dozens of cyclones. They were gigantic, unlike anything he had ever seen. Thankfully being high above the cyclones, he could just get the traces of hellfire wind and the wailing associated with it. The outline of North America far below him was engulfed by dozens of the enormous storms. It was an inordinate, adulterated sight as no part of the continent was safe from the monster storm. _The Earth, could it be purging itself, as if trying an extreme counter-measure to a depressing world?_

“The natural order of this planet,” spoke out a voice from the abyss. This person was eccentric, articulate and yet extremely calm and entirely within comprehension. They almost had a tone of practicality to them, and they were trying to prepare him of something on the horizon.

“It’s decaying. Entropy will engulf everything on the current path.” The omen struck Connor, although by then he could feel nothing and do nothing. He couldn’t move, like paralysis had kicked in. Slowly, he began to lose his altitude and lower into the storm. Not even sheer hysteria could come to the surface, as he braved the brim of the monster.

The voices of a million screamed for help. They had to be all of the people caught in the middle of this terrifying disaster. Connor’s emotions were still dry, but he wanted to feel everything. He could get that much out of his system. The rest wasn’t in him, it had been stolen from him. The sensation of panic, of insignificance in the grand scheme of it all was there but almost like it was a living, breathing person that had left him. That was what had been speaking to him.

He finally touched the ground in the middle of the storm, the control over his legs returned. He experienced the pain from hurricane winds, the deafening shriek that accompanied. Then, a flash of lightning.

He jolted awake feeling immobilized and staring down a distorted, wooden face. It all came back to him, and he struggled to pull himself out of the second floor debris holding him down. He had no clue what the hell was buried in the room with him until the general shape answered his question. He was staring at a totem pole or something. _The storm found a totem pole and cannon-balled it into the school? That’s pretty awesome. And what the fuck am I buried in?_

Connor fought the weight of the floor he had fallen through, that somehow cascaded to land right on top of him. He was covered in dust, coughing up a storm briefly before getting to his feet. His favorite jacket would never be the same after this.

The mushy flooring underneath his feet brought his senses back to one-hundred. It had started to pour while he was knocked out, like in his dream. Was that a dream? It felt lucid, yet completely real. As real as where he stood. He had no idea where his friends were, or the armed lunatic chasing them. He had to find them and fast. Connor gave the totem pole one last look over and marched out of the room, trying to hatch a plan.

 


	5. Everyone's Looking for Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyram and Aubrey search for their missing friend while trying to avoid the ominous shooter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. I just finished my semester, and the summer is now my literary playground. So excited to ramp this story up.
> 
> Revised 5/11/18 for consistency.

**Chapter 5: Everyone’s Looking for Something**

 

Hyram hadn’t recalled stopping for breath inside of the dormitories, and he definitely hadn’t recalled hitting the second floor. He was on the tail end of absolute panic, and he found his breathing uncontrollable. The blood running through his veins was searing, and his legs burned from that Usain of a bolt across the dead campus. His chest rose and fell at concerning pace until the warm palm from Aubrey touched his forearm. That wasn’t enough to calm him, but enough to get his brain working again. The path through the dormitories shot straight up a fallen ceiling to their current whereabouts. They had chosen one of the only rooms left intact without further thought.

 _Okay,_ he calmed himself. _Active shooter. No cell reception. Connor’s missing._ He remembered another shot had gone off before realizing that Connor wasn’t with them. That was fine, because Connor wouldn’t get offed like that. Too much dexterity locked in that head of his.

“Analysis?” Hyram supplicated to the person he knew would have a better grasp on the situation.

Aubrey’s book smarts came to life instantly, her collected conscious showing. “He’s using a pump-action shotgun. It was obviously firing slugs. If it was buckshot, we wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

“Hey,” Hyram kept his voice as low as possible. “Good news is we can take this guy if we have to.”

“If we have to?” Aubrey choked, her feet sinking deeper into the dusty shingles. He faltered at her lack of support, having expected more than a dismissal.“What are we supposed to do against a shotgun?”

“It’s do or die,” Hyram solemnly asserted. “We sit here and wait to die, or we fight back and find Connor.” Any jovial notion of Hyram’s usual commentary left the building ten minutes ago. This was really fucking happening, and he was still clutching his camcorder. _We’d get a billion views on this, but_ —A thought crossed his mind and it enraged him. _Of all the goddamn times for that thought to occur, this has to be the worst moment._ “Fuck!”

“What, what?” Aubrey grabbed his arm, alarmed at his outburst.

“None of this was recorded,” he hissed. “The fucking SD card!” His rage was sustained by a firm slap across his countenance. He was used to the usual swats she gave, but this one had vigor behind it. Her other hand released his forearm and she gritted her teeth at the young man.

“Who gives a fuck about that!” She cursed at him, nearly blowing the words out of her mouth. “I need the car keys. We need to find Connor. We aren’t going to get the jump on this guy, okay?” While she may have had a point, he feared that her own crossed attitude was going to get them found out. He had to find a way to chill her out, and fast. He shook his hands at her, hoping she’d quiet down. “You keep insisting we fight back. So what do you do when you try and one of us gets blown away?”

“Now, hold on!” Hyram almost lost his inside voice, determined to make a point. “It’s better than hiding until our death!” He was stubborn on this issue. In past shooting events that plagued the country, so few people had the opening to fight back. He wanted to be proactive with the opportunity presented to them. They had plenty of improvisable weapons to use in case, and the only thing holding them back from outright leaving for the woods was their lost friend.

“I get the sentiment,” she appealed. “But you can’t ask me to do what you can do.” The stiffened man didn’t quite follow what Aubrey was talking about.

“What, fight?” He watched her expression shift to certainty.

“If we have no choice?” Aubrey grabbed him by his shirt and forced him into direct eye contact. “Go for it. Otherwise, don’t you dare risk your life.”

“Okay,” Hyram said, in awe. She was enunciating to him with an authoritative energy that demanded his respect. The talk down gave him the cue he needed to know when he was being audacious in both senses of the word. It was human nature to avoid getting shot, but he hadn’t considered how hard fighting back could be on somebody else. He was ready to do it, but would she or Connor be able to pull it off? He still wanted a piece of this asshole, but she was right that he needed to remain safe about this. Hyram wouldn’t throw himself into harm’s way. Conflict would only happen if they had zero choice. “I promise. What now?”

The beach blonde reached for her head, rolling her hands once over and then into her hair. “If Connor isn’t here, then he’s either in the pool or the classrooms,” she verbally contemplated. “He could be up high like we are. If that’s so, then he needs to stay put.”

The possibility that neither he nor Aubrey wanted to confront was there. “What if,” he hesitated. “What if he’s—“

“Not him,” Aubrey refused. “He’s not dead. We heard no scream. We have no proof.”

Her words of calm silenced his dreadful reaction. Being the voice of reason might be enough for her to get him through the night, if it lasted that long. “Right. Where do we start looking?”

Connor would do the same for them if the roles were reversed, but Hyram knew this plan could be doomed to fail. There was a high likelihood that they were going to be killed trying to rescue him, but fuck the alternative. It was all or nothing. He wasn’t leaving without his best friend.

It required an unreasonable amount of courage to leave the Prescott Dormitories, trying to mask their noise and movements to the best of their abilities. Getting back to the classrooms and student hall, just the thought of it, gave Hyram pause to reconsider their mission. They could cut a beeline straight through the wooded hills, entering the courtyard by jumping a wall. The simpler, and obvious kill zone would be to follow the sidewalk to the courtyard through an opening in the wall. The shooter could be waiting for them virtually anywhere, from any angle. There could be others, though in numbers they would have caught the two at this point.

He exited the dormitories first, running his eyes across the darkened terrain. More rubble plastered the yard ahead, but he saw no shapes of a prowler lying in wait. He was already antsy, but Aubrey was taking too long in her journey to remain silent. She had never been exactly subtle with her movement, but she needed it now more than ever. He waved his hand back at her, wanting to get a move on as fast as he could. She shot him a nervous glare and, without invitation, took the lead with grace. He hoped she wasn’t trying to prove a point, but he withheld the useless commentary.

They made haste through the yard and crossed over the hilly perimeter until they stopped against the walled exterior of the student hall. Hyram’s body was adapting to the stress and his shortness of breath became an afterthought. They could round the back of the building and enter through the breach at the other side, or they could attempt entry through the front. He consulted Aubrey with a thought-packed stare. She returned a blank one, and he decided she hadn’t quite gotten the hint.

“Left or right?” He barely whispered. She internally examined their options and, upon a resolved frown, quickly pointed left to the lobby entrance. She gave no inclination for her reasoning, but it was good enough for him. Taking cover at the edge of the building, he saw nothing to alarm him and progressed.

The magic of the courtyard they had felt earlier was absent for him, the distance between just presenting another hurdle to cross. Hugging the walls and ducking underneath the windowsills became second nature. Yet again, there was no sign of the shooter. Not even the shuffling boots or the deranged small talk. There was also a serious lack of Connor Papworth, but Hyram hoped that was because he was hidden away somewhere in the building. They only had to climb the step foundation up to the open doorway before they’d be back inside the lobby.

He hoped his counterpart wouldn’t trip on any of the discarded debris as she had before. _Dear god, that was a thought I didn’t need to worry about._ Aubrey wasn’t a klutz at all, but her luck on this trip was terrible. On that matter though, they were all on the unlucky boat after tonight. They were up the steps in record time, getting a view at the ancient lobby just as they had left it. He finely tuned his hearing for any shred of evidence that Connor was potentially closeted off somewhere in the building, but heard nothing.

He got an idea based on something his pal had said earlier, and unhurriedly sneaked down the hallway towards the computer room. Aubrey watched his back, making minimal impact on the way. This was gonna be a story that they told over a good night’s worth of alcohol, and it didn’t matter that Aubrey was a teetotaler. She _was_ having a drink after this, and he’d make sure Jack’s brown nosing little face could see it.

The exposed breach was only a few feet ahead, and the cafeteria to their right. It was worth checking, and Aubrey must have agreed. She shot a look through the window in the door and moved on without hesitation. No Connor yet. They had to find him here, there was nowhere else to effectively hide. Unless they were being extremely stupid, and Connor made it to the treeline instead of running in to the center of campus as they had done. _Man, we’re morons_. _No, wait._ They had kept the vehicle and their supplies in mind. They were being cautious, not moronic. He was overthinking this, and shook the needless stress off. Connor also had a knife on him, so it wasn’t like he was unarmed. It was a little pocket knife, but still a knife.

The two rooms adjacent were filled with trash, but still not their friend. If they didn’t locate him soon, Hyram already imagined the fallout from his psychotic break. He clutched the camcorder harder than he probably should have, wishing sorely the camera wasn’t full. He would have used it to identify their attacker.

They were at the intersection of the dangerous stairwell, the outside world, and the hallway to the computer lab. He sure as hell wasn’t splitting himself up from Aubrey, so he directed her to take up his six again. The cameraman led her towards the computer lab, losing the mindfulness he had entering the building. He needed to see his friend, hear him say he was alright.

Stepping over more school decorations, they were at right outside of the computer room. Plenty of inoperable monitors and shattered screens were within view, and even office desks that had somehow survived the test of time. The broken and missing windows could have a face waiting behind them, preparing for the opportune moment to put a bullet in their backs once they turned away.

“Frustrated,” Aubrey mumbled. She was digging her right hand into her free wrist. _She needs to loosen up, she’s doing such a great job!_ Hyram’s hands met hers and he lightly tugged hers from their death grip. She complied at first, but abruptly pulled away. “Thanks,” she managed.

He was only concerned over the marks she could have left. Hopefully, this wasn’t a normal coping method. “We have one last place to check,” he mumbled back. “How’s your signal going?”

Her phone was out and momentarily, she begrudgingly slid it back into a pocket. “No signal.”

“Bullshit,” He scrunched his eyes. D _idn’t we have signal at the campfire? What’s up with the bipolar reception?_ “Think maybe we’ll have a signal upstairs?”

The trip to the second floor was hazardous. There were steps missing or flattened, and other spots that felt weak enough to fall. They had to travel up stairs one at a time, with as much of their weight balanced as they could. The second floor itself wasn’t nearly as weak, but Hyram kept his reaction time handy for the event that he or Aubrey fell down through the flooring.

The search of the second floor had started, and this time they did split up at her suggestion. Hyram was unwilling at first, but eventually took the farthest wing while Aubrey remained in the closest wing. Hers was relatively safer, whereas the farther side appeared fragile in its foundation. It would only take a minute to scour the whole floor if they parted ways. One would notice more holes in the ceiling and less structural support than in the dormitories. No problem in his opinion, he’d been through worse before. He searched each room, and as he made the rounds he felt desperation kicking in. He still couldn’t find Connor, and the negative idea returned to bare on his conscious.

Hyram wouldn’t live with himself. He’d never be able to make a joke again. Why bother when his test audience wouldn’t be around to see him embarrass himself? The goal was always to make Connor either tell him he sounds like a dumbass, or get a grin off of the young man. Aubrey was receptive to humor, but she tended to exaggerate reactions for him. It wouldn’t be the same.

After clearing all the rooms, it was time to check back on Aubrey. With his tail tucked between his legs, he sulked back to the stairwell where they entered floor two. Hoping the young woman found at least a trace of their friend was all he could muster. There was still the pool, but unless Connor dipped into that primordial soup there wasn’t a spot for him.

As he came close to the stairwell, he heard creaking nearby in the floor. Aubrey must be around the bend, but he wasn’t ready to resume normal operations just yet. He wanted to just call her name out and get an answer, but that was not what he would do. He stopped in place, waiting for more indication that it was Aubrey he had heard.

The eerie silence settled in on him. Still being slightly out of view from the hall that extended to the back of the floor, Hyram leaned in to peer around that pesky corner. Surely Aubrey was being weird, right? Maybe she thought she’d have better signal up on floor two, but she would have been quick to tell him about it. He hesitated, waiting for confirmation that she was speaking to an operator in a dispatch office. He could already picture the face that anyone taking the call would make upon hearing their account.

That was not what Hyram saw upon viewing the new hallway. Instead, he saw a tall, slender figure in tattered apparel, aiming his shotgun at an oblivious Aubrey, facing the collapsed wall while holding up her cell phone. She had noticed the shooter no sooner than he had, and her split-second morph from oblivious to frightened gave Hyram sudden strength. If he didn’t do something, she was about to get killed. Fury awakened inside and consumed his anxiety. The scream that left his throat was deafening, and his camcorder connected with the startled shooter’s bald head. He saw his financial asset snap into two, the folding screen completely separated from the camera body. It was a sacrifice he had to make. Nobody would fuck with his friends.

The staggered shooter cried out in pain, and an incomprehensible sentence escaped his mouth. He blabbered about an oracle, dropping to one knee and peering back in agitation. Aubrey’s shriek was replaced with stamping feet towards the stairwell. The shotgun fired off in their direction, piercing the drywall a yard behind. Neither one of them gave a fuck about single file and rushed down the stairs, looping underneath and out of the massive hole in the wall.

They were home free to get back to the tent! They could finally grab her car keys and at least get the engine going for their getaway! Hyram decided to disregard their low profile and cupped his hands to amplify his voice.

“Run! Get to the SUV!” he shouted, nearly smiling at the schwarzanegger-esque line. It was meant for Connor if he could hear them. It wouldn’t be long now, sprinting over the field they had been crouched and sneaking through before. Before long, Aubrey was outpacing him and would arrive back at the camp first. The tent materialized out of the dark as she slid to a halt, and Hyram had to kick up his heel just to slow down. He dug into the moist dirt, and he realized it had started raining when they left the building. There was an umbrella somewhere in Aubrey’s trunk, so that could be dealt with once they were in the clear.

Aubrey had already burst through the tent flaps, giving Hyram urgency to watch their back. The sprinted distance was impressive considering the time they made it in. With no lanky figure within sight, he ducked underneath the flaps to find Aubrey panicking on the floor. Where the keys to the SUV had previously sat was an empty spot. Everything they had inside of their tent was turned inside out or displaced. Seeing her fumbling through the contents of their camping trip, he dropped and assisted in the futile search. _Where could keys have been tossed?_ Time was not on his side, but he had something to roll with. _I know!_ The keys weren’t laying out exposed. Rather, he pulled them out of Aubrey’s sleeping bag! Displaying them proudly to her face, the red color she had from her momentary shock drained.

The incomprehensible utterances were back. It was time to leave before they were caught and Aubrey whisked him out the front of the tent and picked a random direction away from the shooter. The rain had picked up, as had the wind. It was becoming a hazard that could cause a slip and fall. The best course of action would be to find solid ground, and they dashed toward the parking lot in a zig-zag.

They were so close to tapping out and waiting for professionals to deal with this. This was supposed to be vacation for college kids. So what if they were in a closed off ghost town? No one deserved this, certainly not Connor Papworth or Aubrey Snyders. They were going to grow up and change the world. Hell, even Hyram thought he might manage to do the same. Oh, and they were gonna get so freaking hammered later. Once they survived this, he would finally break the news about his mother. The alcohol might suppress the shock from what he had to tell.

They were drenched from head to toe by the time they hit the sidewalk, but they kept on running. Her ugly beige vehicle was right in front of them when they noticed another hammer into their plan. An older, rusty car blocked the exit to the parking lot, presumably belonging to their pursuer. Unless she was willing to put her foot on the pedal and hope her SUV could sustain that much power, this escape plan was botched.

They could still run. They still had time to veer right and leave this fucking nightmare. They could even fare hydroplaning through the muddy field and hooking out onto the road. But if they crashed, that would be another one of many alternate endings to their night of terror. They were lost in terms of options to roll with. He hadn’t given up hope just yet, and grabbed Aubrey by her arm before a shotgun slug impacted on the pavement.

Behind them was the shooter, the rain droplets running down his face masked by the dark. His gross, gray beard was soaked and glossy, but even in the night his sadistic smile was discernible. Hyram had taken up a defensive stance in front of Aubrey who was silent but was clearly trying to hatch a plan. Her flattened hair from the rain made her difficult for him to read. _Now’s the time for a crazy idea_ , he wanted tell her before he saw the barrel aimed at his chest. He’d never been shot at or had a gun pointed at him. Something built up deep in his throat, and he wanted to vomit.

“You givin’ me a lot of damn trouble, boy.” The shooter slurred, revealing his missing teeth. “Why don’ts we finish this up?” He patronized them, the ensuing storm barely drowning out his words.

“What the fuck do you want?” Hyram demanded, hoping that the rain was hiding his shaking posture as he stood tall against the aggressor.

“I wants you to play your part, boy.” He gestured with his gun. “They told me you’d be here. They was right.”

Hyram raised up his hands, in a vain attempt to de-escalate the situation. “What are you talking about?” This apparently angered the wet stranger, and the barrel moved from Hyram’s chest to his face. The young man tensed for whatever was about to happen, the urge to vomit even stronger.

“They tolds me you needed to be alive. They never said how alive,” he chuckled, pumping his gun and expelling the last casing fired.

As much as Hyram wanted to close his eyes, he wrinkled his forehead and stared his opponent down. If this was how it would go down, then he wasn’t letting this psycho take him alive. Connor could find their bodies and get the cavalry in to bring this murderer to justice. Even if he attacked and gave Aubrey time to run, she’d be shot just as he would. This really was it. He wondered what his dad would think upon reunion. Would he believe Hyram had risen from the confines of their problems to become a better person?

A moving shape behind the would-be killer drew his attention to a saturated Connor, raising out a hand and screaming at the top of his lungs. The next moment was completely unclear, a piercingly loud reverberation shook the earth underneath him. In a brief second, the scene was as bright as day. He couldn’t hear anything aside from the sine one is accustomed to hearing after a damaging volume. The disorientation left him spinning, unable to locate his closest friend.

Their would-be killer had covered his eyes from the blinding light and that’s when Hyram saw his opening. He darted from his kneeled position into landing a hook right into the fucker’s cheek. With further coordination he threw his elbow into the attacker’s arm, flinging the shotgun from their grasp. He was on the ground in no time and Hyram saw Connor coming to meet them. He was so relieved and excited, but he would have to put all of his celebratory emotions on pause. Connor flew past him into the brush and Hyram began chase, with Aubrey not far behind.

The storm was raging hard, with a lightning strike somewhere far off. Ducking through pines and taller shrubs, Hyram was losing his friend in the woods. They had to be at least a quarter of a mile from harm’s way at this point and yet he found little rhyme or reason to stop running. Not counting all of the set backs, they just kicked some _serious_ ass! Some _Last House on The Left_ looking redneck who tried to kidnap them, who spoke about—

Oracle. Probably not the kind he was familiar with. Aside from the company, oracles were mythical characters who often received prophecies in the form of visions. The guy was slurring his words hard, too. He could have been tweaking out on something, but Hyram hadn’t cared to consider it. Glinting orbs ahead brought him to a stop, and the stormy woods filled with a sight he had never imagined they would see.

Surrounding Hyram and Aubrey were dozens of apprehensive deer, eyes shining through the darkness. _Could a deer fuck me up? Not after tonight,_ thought the confident Hyram. The timid animals stuck out like sore thumbs in the rain due to their glossy hides. Glancing through the crowd, he couldn’t spot a single buck. At his side stood Aubrey, still recovering from the near death experience. She gripped her flash-light that was still shining through the brush. The bright beam might have been partially to blame for this mystical standoff. Never had he been up close to deer before, staring at him like rabbits in the headlights. It was a strange transition, coming from a gun on you to prying eyes of woodland animals.

The magic was gone in an instant when Connor returned from the brush and the herd scampered away. Hyram finally found his moment to laugh, but the laugh came out as an uncontrollable cackle. He lost his voice with how hard he laughed until he was on the ground again, clutching his chest. The story of Arcadia Bay just got a whole lot more swashbuckle.

“Okay, okay,” he coughed, wondering why nobody was helping him up. “That was a thrill! Where were you hiding at, Connor?” he recovered slightly and looked up to see the two locked in a petrified stare down. She acted almost scared of him, why the fuck was she scared of him?

“Am I missing something?” Hyram came to his feet, dusting off his pant legs. Thunder roared across the land, and it clicked. The flash of light and the force that knocked him down. He put two and two together. “We got struck by lightning, didn’t we?” Hyram inquired, receiving an empty face from Connnor and a still-petrified expression from her. The night continued to grow in extraordinary circumstances.

“I-I think so,” Connor stuttered, rubbing the water from his face. “We need to find dry ground until the storm lets up, right?”

“Would help if we had that damn umbrella,” Hyram mentioned the wretched thing, probably tucked underneath the driver’s seat instead of her trunk. _Speaking of the car… Oh_ my _god._ He jeered and facepalmed upon remembering what he had dropped. “I don’t have the car keys anymore.”


	6. Procession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio deal with personality strife as they come up with a plan to get out of Arcadia Bay. Aubrey tries to understand what she witnessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello yet again. Much thanks to TheOV for being my test reader, as usual. Chapter 7 has a special treat, and I'll soon be amending the tags to reflect it. Hope you're all enjoying, you might get the next chapter as early as Wednesday, but that's still a "might".

**Chapter 6: Procession**

 

There was no possible explanation for what Aubrey had witnessed back at the school. Of the handful remotely possible, most of them only complicated the night. There was always the argument that it couldn’t get _any_ more complicated than what went down, in regards to the night. It wasn’t the raving loon with the shotgun, nor the prolonged disappearance of Connor, or even the abrupt start of a thunderstorm in the middle of a spring evening that had baffled her. What Aubrey had seen was a trail of mighty electricity strike a vehicle with precision.

She knew that there were numerous myths surrounding lightning, such as metal or tall objects attracting them. Lightning was, in reality, a random force of nature. The electrical arc would choose on its way down what to connect with. The problem laid in the fact that _this_ lightning bolt had not arced or danced. No, this one had struck directly on the loon’s old car, right on the windshield. The laminated safety glass of the windshield had shattered and the smoke had poured out from underneath the hood. And unlike the mild shower that they had experienced, this had occurred in a fierce downpour that she had only seen during storm season.

To top it all off, she had met Connor’s eyes in the midst of it. Of all the motion Aubrey likely missed due to her focus being split between so many things at once, she recognized his trembling struggle. The fear of losing them had been present, but where the astonishing surprise should have been had instead a layer of guilt and expectation. The clenched, open jawed scream and the outstretched hand almost insinuated that he might have _summoned_ the wrath of nature.

 _Or Aubrey needs a break from Percy Jackson… Something more real and serious, maybe a Haddix book._ It was always possible that, under all of the duress, she wasn’t thinking clearly. Still, denial wasn’t high on the list of thoughts she could pull from her hat. A drawing hat was a good metaphor for what her mind felt like.

The rain had returned to a very light shower, but she wanted it to end all together. The temperature must have dropped, and combined with the moisture would, it would make a terrible night. The nocturnal sound of water droplets traveling from the forest canopy to the undergrowth at least brought her enough peace to ponder the encounter. They had pushed farther into the wood, without ever considering how they were getting out. The plan was to keep moving until the rain died out. They’d find dry ground, a daunting task as it remained, and then come up with part two of their plan.

Slowly, she recalled the other unfortunate events that had occurred in the middle of their escape. Hyram had lost the keys in the explosion and it wasn’t his fault, but the thought of leaving her SUV in the hands of a crazy doomsday prepper aggravated her. That wasn’t counting all of the equipment that they had inside and outside of the tent. What wasn’t ransacked or stolen was now ruined by the weather.

Aubrey glanced down to her phone and saw that there was still no signal, which was another convenient problem that persistently slapped her. If life was anything at that moment, it was a giant, malicious hammer that came down on them at the worst moments possible.

 _I should feel crazy right now, but I really think I saw Connor throw lightning, like a superpower._ Rather than crazy, she didn’t know what to think about what she had witnessed. It couldn’t be, because that was impossible. Nothing was making sense anymore; since she had stopped at that airport to pick up Connor, oddities had run rampant. Between the Bluetooth bug, Hyram’s unusually flamboyant behavior, and everything else, Aubrey had found herself questioning what fit reality and what did not.

While Hyram was hellbent on celebrating their escape, Connor wasn’t so enthusiastic. He continually met her gaze and then broke it off, for reasons she could only guess. As easy as it would be to just up and ask about it, she found a lump where the words should come out, and a beating heart that she could feel pumping throughout her limbs.

Even in that second, she couldn’t stop herself from staring at the back of his head as he took the lead through the dense foliage. If he was thinking about it as well, why hadn’t he said anything? In all the years she had known him, he had never acted so unsettlingly complacent as he had been since they ducked into the woods. She couldn’t force herself to confront the possibility that Connor had saved them, and Hyram was, as expected, completely oblivious to the tension between the two of them. _How do you stay so composed, you big panda?_

She longed to be somewhere warm and dry, like back at her dorm in San Bernardino. Her dad would’ve had the patched yellow blanket sewn by her mother four years back. Just the thought of wrapping herself up in it left Aubrey temporary feelings of grandeur. She just wanted her car and the phone signal. The internal complaining brought another jarring thought to the edge of her consciousness and she realized how distraught that her boyfriend must have been over her silence. She had stopped replying to his angry ranting when Hyram tossed her phone down at the fire. She didn’t want to deal with an angry Jack, so that was the only plus. Besides, the lost signal was out of her hands. She would simply reach out when the opportunity arose. There was no sense in worrying about it if nothing could be done. _I would be just as upset if I were in his shoes, yeah._

The hike through the wet wilderness progressed until they hit an incline in the terrain. The three were trudging up a large hill in the middle of the pines at about midnight, and she was so, so weary from the experience. Aubrey wanted to fall over and pass out, and the chance to do it might have been right in front of her. It was either a prayer being answered or just luck that the rain had concluded. Their guide must have noticed as well, because he halted in his tracks. From over his shoulder, Aubrey saw the wide grin emerge from Hyram’s face.

“Okay, it’s rest time,” he let out an enormous sigh of relief and dropped his shoulders. The pliable medical student leaned against a nearby pine tree and bent to a crouch. Connor mirrored him in plopping down onto the partial mud and soil covered in pine needles, propping his back against another trunk. As for Aubrey, she wasn’t ready to relax. The walk had suppressed her pulsing heartbeat, and now that she was standing atop the hill it had returned. She tried to pace her breathing, inhaling and exhaling steadily.

Aubrey had never taken the opportunity to run free through Arcadia Bay, and even if she had one, it wouldn’t have been through the woods. Her father would’ve loved that sort of activity, but she was drenched, dirty, and sleepy as hell. If this had been a hike through the woods with dad, that would be comfortable. She wouldn’t feel comfortable until they made it out of this mess.

“It’s 11:49,” Hyram said drowsily after looking at his phone. He received a tiny smirk from Connor, who she thought was still too smug for what had transpired. Even the guy who would pull jokes out of his ass at every chance was winding down. She envied both of them, knowing well that she’d need to be knocked out to get any rest tonight.

“We’re not actually hunkering down here, are we?” Aubrey started her protest. Even if her legs were the sorest they had been in a long time, she didn’t want to pass out vulnerably. She was convinced they’d shaken the survivalist, but her head replayed those last moments over and over. The idea of awakening bound and gagged in a hillbilly’s basement was enough to make her skin crawl.

“You have a better idea?” Hyram calmly asked her, choosing his words with haste. “Last I checked, our 4G is out, it’s almost midnight and we have no vehicle.” She found her fingers running through the damp mound of blonde hair on her head, a signature move of hers when she grew uncomfortable with confrontation. The boys hadn’t picked up on this habit yet, or so they never mentioned it. Frankly, when Hyram had taken notice of her folded arms and fingers digging into her skin, she was pleased. There were a few more that remained elusive to them, she thought.

“Yeah, good job on that,” Aubrey quipped cheaply, only to regret it immediately. The moment was entirely inappropriate for a jab. Having soured his happy mood immediately, she lowered her head. “Sorry.”

“She’s kind of right,” Connor interjected. “It could storm again, and we’ve been lucky enough to avoid the lions, the tigers and bears!” It was a good save, but it certainly set a different mood than before. Aubrey wanted to shoot herself after hearing that lame attempt to cool the moment off, but the reference was certainly not wasted.

“Lions, and tigers, and bears! _Oh my_ ,” Hyram bellowed with a deep voice, bringing the tip of his fingers to his mouth. He had furrowed his brows and lowered his face to stare suggestively back towards Connor. “I guess you could say that--”

“You’re the Scarecrow,” Aubrey quickly inserted. This led Connor to form a fist, hiding his puckered lips. She was still analyzing his every move, noting he had moved from laying against the trunk to cross-legged and directly facing them. His shoulders were rigid in a way that conveyed anxiety. He was trying to deflect as much as Hyram was.

“Shit, that’s even worse than calling him the Tinman,” he admitted behind the fist.

“I’ve been called worse. And you two aint no Dorothy and Toto,” Hyram contained the laughter that teased the other two. This would not be funny if the air wasn’t nearly as intense as it had been. Aubrey was still worried about sleeping out in the middle of the woodland, but the moment was a reminder of why she had jumped to take the drive out of California. “You’re more like the Wicked Witch.”

“And why so?” Aubrey invited him to finish his thought, waiting for the perfect moment to strike back. _I don’t have a rebuttal just yet, but I might in a few minutes_. Hyram lifted his arms up and stretched in all directions, taking his sweet time before replying.

“The Wicked Witch melted when water was thrown on her,” he finished her, the shit-eating grin now so big it had to hurt. Connor must have thought it was hilarious, because he had to hold onto himself before falling on his side with hushed laughter. Aubrey, on the other hand, hadn’t expected a rebuttal so weak. It was a good comeback, yes, but it was also so dumb that it pissed her off slightly. He could only get away with it in this moment; had he said it at any other time, she might have actually slapped him. Aubrey maintained a curled lip, angrily conceding the victory to the satisfied Hyram. The metaphorical bitch slap, however, would be met with her own vengeance sooner or later. As the two boys understood well, Aubrey was a calculated Revanchist.

The group laughter ensued for another two minutes until they had worked out the stress. They were given plenty of time to avoid her question and she was going to bring it up once more. Aubrey decided to try a less hostile tone than her original. _Can’t help that I’m blunt sometimes. I’m sorry, Hyram._

“So, about hunkering down,” she saw the two boys collectively sit up straight to lend her their ears. Connor’s facade continued, and she could see through his smile. He still hadn’t brought it up. _Why can’t you just do it, Connor?_ She shook the thought and continued. “Would you feel safer if we slept in shifts?”

“Not a bad idea,” Hyram replied curiously. “We’d need to decide the rotation and when we move out.”

“I say Oh-800, first sergeant,” Connor jested. Hyram raised his forearm, and then dropped his pointed finger at the brunet.

“Save that for Colonel Donnelly,” Hyram took yet another shot at Jack.

 _Okay, you want to keep joking. We’ll joke._ “Colonel Donnelly can at least pass a pacer test,” she remarked, going straight for his insecurity. Hyram showed no sign of hurt and threw his head, chuckling.

“I wonder if what he’ll say when he realizes you have more balls than he does,” he dodged addressing her insult. She took a deep breath, about to give in to her rage.

“Oh, about that… I’m glad you think I’m good on my own, despite how often you tried to grab and direct me. You sure you really think I’m not some frail little woman?” The buried problem that had been irking her over the course of their trip was finally scratched. She let his usual banter slide, but the constant attacks on Jack and the jokes that casually bordered on sexism were getting on her nerves. Sure, Jack was guilty of doing this from time to time, and she always called him out in an instant just as she was doing to Hyram. “How about we reassess what’s funny and what’s _not_ funny? We almost died tonight, dumbass. We still _might._ Think about that, for a change.”

“Holy shit,” Hyram’s invincible grin finally transformed into a disapproving grimace. He rose to his feet and turned his back on her. “You really want to go for my throat? Fine. You can come up with a solution yourself.”

She refused to acknowledge him as he left their new camp. Her eyes trailed off from the back of Hyram’s shirt to the other boy’s bewilderment. Connor was left speechless. He hadn’t moved from his criss-crossed position, although he appeared more slouched than before. _Interesting, for someone who was caught off guard by this, you sure are relaxed._

Aubrey’s hands were digging into her arms again. Truthfully, it was impulse control issue when she became angry, often clawing herself up without consciously recognizing the act. She closed her eyes and retreated into a tightened sitting position, rolling herself around to stare off into the darkness. She wished Jack was there, even if he would be giving her an earful. But in her eyes, she was justified. Hyram’s bullshit was the last thing they needed right now. As for Jack, he can wait too.

Jack certainly had his moments, as she thought back over the last family Christmas party. He had taken so much care of her, but it wasn’t the manners or the gifts. Last Christmas was the big game changer in their relationship, where Aubrey had sat him down and just talked. About everything they could imagine, and that was more than anyone, even these two, had ever done for her. He listened to her, she listened to him, finally hearing the depth behind the young man she had met at Uni. That was only months ago, and hope remained that she could bring that out of him more often.

“Aubrey,” Connor had moved up behind her, his tone conciliatory.

“Mhmm?” She murmured in concession, waiting for his inevitable bridge-building.

“You’re shivering,” he said, which was a totally unexpected comment.

She hadn’t even noticed, but it was at least 60 Fahrenheit. Making a fire under current conditions was impossible, and keeping warm would be the biggest hurdle of the night. A fire could also give their position away, something very low on her priority. Still, she remained silent. She wasn’t shivering due to the cold, but more due to her anxiety. Whether she was experiencing an attack or not, Connor’s warm concern was a tiny dressing for the wound. “I’m going to go talk to him about everything that’s been said. Is that okay?” Aubrey raised a brow and couldn’t resist the risen cheek as well, meeting his face to clarify.

“You’re asking me for permission?” Connor’s careful demeanor switched, and a tiny smirk reappeared on the boy. She had to admit, the boy had charm. She always wondered why he wasn’t pulling women at his college town.

“Well, you _did_ cause a storm,” he mused, seeing the restrained smile breaking through on her end. She broke their gaze and shrugged it off.

 _No._ You _caused a storm._ She wanted to just… grab him by the wrists and make him tell the truth. Between Hyram’s annoying tendencies and Connor’s mysterious behavior about their night, she was about to pass out from exhaustion. They had been shot at, threatened, and now technically were on the run. The fact that these two could remain anything but freaked out was a testament to their personalities. _That’s probably for the better, Aubrey. Sleep it off. Apologize tomorrow. Or wait for them to apologize._ That’s precisely what she did. Aubrey closed her eyes and within moments, she realized how tired she really was.

 

 _March 16_ _th_ _2015_

She did not dream that night, awakening right at that time of morning where the bright sun rolled just over the forest floor. It was solace that she groggily accepted, clumsily coming to her feet. Licking her lips, she found her throat sore and her sinuses congested. The chilly air caressed her cheeks, beating her hands by seconds as she rubbed her face and traveled up to her forehead and scalp. Eventually, she moved on to playing with her hair and, after assessment, shuddered at how gross she felt.

“How the hell did we sleep through that?” she grumbled, staring down to her muddied shirt and pant legs. The other two had found their zen and were fast asleep on the ground, clearly revealing the shift system had not panned out well. Luckily, no lions, tigers, bears or crazies had discovered them in the night.

The events from the previous night were mentally revisited as she returned to full consciousness, though she twitched when it reached Jack. She dug into both of her pockets instinctively despite the square outline showing through her right. Checking her phone thoroughly for any missed texts or messages from him, she found not one had arrived. For that matter, she had no messages, not even from the family. The service was, without surprise, still elusive for her phone.

 _If I just dial 9-1-1 though… maybe, just maybe…_ She entertained the notion before locking onto the battery icon. “Fuck,” she whispered. The cell phone’s battery was sitting at 12 percent, and without any feasible method of charging that would only drop further. _If only I had the foresight last night to grab it_ , she recalled the solar charger left behind at their burglarized camp the night before. It was a neat purchase, and she would miss it dearly.

“Fuck’s not usually the word I’d use to describe waking up,” Hyram clearly spoke from behind. She remembered the fight as she turned, seeing him going through his morning rituals. She had not caught him awakening or even getting to his feet. “Good morning, Aubrey.”

“Oh?” She narrowed her eyes to feign a studious gaze. “No clever line?”

“Come on, man. Don’t start on my ass, it’s eight in the morning,” he scoffed in her direction, staring across the treeline. “I’m sorry about, well, all of it.”

Aubrey felt sorry, too. She let out a heavy sigh and joined him in stretching. “Hyram, I understand the sarcasm and wit is your go-to whenever anything isn’t looking well. I’ve known that for years, but we aren’t kids anymore. This is areal situation, and all I want to do is get the fuck out of here, with the three of us in one piece,” she paused, considering the right way to word her next sentence. “I am very unappreciative of the unrelenting remarks about Jack. You’ve done this for the past year, and now you’re face to face with me instead of on the message app. He and I have problems, and I will come to you for advice, but you have _got_ to accept that my decision on things is final.”

Hyram had stopped his stretching, and his hands were curled into fists. Aubrey wondered if she had said something the wrong way, but he cleared the air as quickly as she had finished. “No, I don’t have to accept your decision. But we can agree to disagree.” He maintained a neutral demeanor the entire time he spoke, making Aubrey’s next point harder to make.

“I’m sorry, Hyram. Just, please try to be nicer until we’re safe? The last thing I want to focus on after being attacked is… this” She wanted him to feel better, but the concerns had to be addressed. Although he remained stoic, his defensive body posture told her a different story.

“I probably do need to be more considerate with my words,” he admitted, rolling his neck to crack it. “I’m only trying to lighten the mood. It’s what I do, you’re right. This I’ll give you. I’m sorry about everything that I’ve said.” Aubrey thought he was finally cheering up, and the self-introspection sounded fantastic. He wasn’t finished speaking, however as he took a step closer. “But this isn’t all me. You’ve shafted the both of us before because Jack whined about it. And your words can sting like daggers, too.” The humorless smile that Hyram held told her a lot about where this was coming from. “So, yeah. Got that off of my chest.”

Suddenly, she was the one feeling like there was something wrong with her. The entire time, she always thought that his usual shrug offs were all part of their friendly squabbling. At what point did the lines blur between the campy banter to hurtful words? She beckoned for him to come closer and wrapped her arms underneath his shoulders, pulling him in for a bright embrace. The scene would look amusing to a third party, as the five-foot six-inch Aubrey tugged the five-ten Hyram down with her hug. He also smelled absolutely horrible, but she had no doubt that she reeked equally.

“Uhh, aren’t we supposed to have a dramatic moment before the make up and hug?” Hyram unconvincingly queried. The failure to mask his usual personality earned a giggle briefly and a pat on his back. She didn’t get tender moments out of him often.

“I’m sorry we’ve treated each other like shit. We need to work on communication, I guess.” She released him and her head turned towards the still sleeping Connor. _Speaking of communication…_ She considered bringing up her grievance with Hyram before she tried to with Connor, but he had already disappeared from her vision. When she finally located him, he was up to no good. Hyram combed the forest floor for something, and she kept quiet to watch the show that was about to unfold. He eventually located a brittle stick from the undergrowth and picked it up. _Hyram’s going to piss him off. How touching after that conversation. I guess nothing truly scares him._ He first tried prodding Connor in the stomach lightly, and then moved the stick towards his lips. Aubrey’s initial reaction was to protest, so she nudged Hyram on the shoulder. He only replied with a sardonic smirk.

She had to cover her mouth and hold back the knee-jerk guffaw as Hyram’s stick quivered Connor’s chapped lips. Their narrator came to life like a kicking baby. Connor slapped the stick into two pieces and sat up grouchily. Aubrey couldn’t believe how lucky she was to have them in her life. The terror from the previous night had settled at the bottom of her mind. All that was left was to propose the _“Hey Connor, are you a son of Zeus?”_ conversation, but maybe once they were comfortably safe. Also, she had _definitely_ been reading way too much Riordan.

Gathering what little they had in terms of bearings, the three of them set out in a direction that would likely intersect with a main road out of the county. Connor managed to use an offline version of a maps app to get a somewhat coherent idea of where they were at, although it kept refreshing to report that they were in the middle of the ocean every so often. They would try to either hail a ride or find the police, although by that point, Aubrey was skeptical about involving the authorities. They could leave out the freak weather all together, and cut straight to the ignored county ordnance signs stating no trespassing and the crazy with his shotgun. There was a chance they could get out of the ordeal without any legal trouble, considering the facts of the past night. Despite the rationalization, her opinion on involving them remained dubious at best.

Getting her car back would be nice, too. It was a hand-me-down from her father and she had kept the SUV in pristine condition since she was graced with it. All of her clothes and many devices were stored inside, including her laptop. _Uuugh… ‘Hi everyone. Aubrey’s been hacked. Sincerely, the guy who tried to kill her.’ That’d be enough to get the national guard from my family._ She cared nothing for glamour or speed, and simply enjoyed that her van was the center of operations for their group. It could be right where she had left it in the school parking lot, or it could be on the road with their interloper at the wheel.

The interloper was the next element she focused on during the trek to the road. What in the world did he want from them? He spoke to Hyram as if he knew they would be there, and they had a part to play. She thought it would be a decent setup for a crime novel, she just didn’t want to _be_ part of that novel. What baffled her more was the freak thunderstorm and the lightning strike that happened at the same time that the attacker showed up. If Arcadia Bay was known for a freak storm, then could it all be related? _Perhaps it wasn’t Connor, but the old man… or maybe its all Native American burial ground. Oh, that one’s dark._ It only brought more urgency to her plea that their narrator bring it up first. She still couldn’t get herself to mention it first. The editor couldn’t narrow down whether she was afraid of sounding like a lunatic or suspicious that one of her best friends was secretly attending Camp Half-Blood. _Yeah,_ way _too much Riordan._

After the fight and mutual apology with Hyram, she couldn’t stomach more confrontation. Sticking by what she had decided earlier would be a great plan: speaking about it once they were out of the current mess. The woodland became denser as they moved northwest. She had checked her phone a few minutes ago, noting that an hour had passed. While holding the phone in her hands, she felt an obligation to do something that had slipped her mind, before dropping it into her pocket. The dry throat teamed up with a ravenous hunger, increasing her discomfort. She had forgotten to eat something before they had started filming unlike the other two, and now she was regretting every second.

Her legs ached from the amount of wear, but it wasn’t the aching that made her recognizant. It was her phone letting her know through a ding that she had exceeded her daily cardio quota of 2 miles. She immediately reached into her pocket to power down her device, realizing she had forgotten about that. _Yes, it can keep track of that but still deny me data._ With the battery so low, she wasn’t going to waste it on frivolous applications.

As for the other two musketeers, Connor and Hyram largely remained quiet and responsive to the environment. They weren’t exactly commandos in the forest, but they were mindful of their feet, what trails to blaze and when to watch out for animals. They had seen none since the herd of deer, and the lack thereof had started to bother her. For an area that was so reclaimed by nature, it appeared devoid of any fauna.

The weather was a possible factor to it. Everything came back to the weather: the attack, Connor, the reception, the city’s destruction. _And animals can sense changes in pressure, right? What if they all left?_ That was enough for her to swallow the lump in her throat. If the weather was starting to become anomalous again, then what if another monster storm was on the horizon?

“Land ho,” the wearied Connor alerted them as his upper torso disappeared through a thick brush line. Aubrey hadn’t realized how much time had been lost in her daze. She had entered a monotonous daydream through the hike, her mind waking up only when she needed to watch her step. As she moved through the brush that Connor had poked out of, the unfiltered sunlight blinded her. Aubrey scrunched her face and sought shade from the sun with hand visors. Once she adjusted to the light, the slope up to an old paved two-lane road awaited her.

“It actually spat us out at a road?” Hyram asked in disbelief, catching up to Aubrey as she climbed the short hill to the side of the road. “I didn’t know my GPS could work without service.” It was something even most tech service lines would deny, but Aubrey knew it was entirely possible to get offline, data-less maps. The two boys had been resistant to try it, but it granted them freedom from the Arcadia Bay forest.

“How do you think your location can be turned on without signal? You damn baby boomer.” Aubrey remarked as she visually followed the road for several miles until the bend was obstructed by far off forest. She took in the dead tree husks on the other side of the road, left overs from a fire that once burned strong. _Come to think of it, there was a big fire a few years after I left. Could that be connected to the anomalies?_ One thing was certain. When she could properly sit and blog for their channel, she would have a story to tell.

“So, can your GPS tell us what road we’re on?” Connor approached from behind, taking longer than she had expected. “Need to know what direction we’re gonna hitch a ride to.”

“Don’t need a GPS to tell us which direction,” Aubrey dryly stated, walking north along the road. “We’re getting the hell out of Arcadia Bay.”

To their great dismay, another hour rolled by and not a single car had stopped for them. She and Connor had started keeping track of them, and since the start of their hitchhiking they had five that blew past. The cool wind wasn’t enough to stop the sun from beating down on Aubrey’s pale neck. Even if a car did show up, would they stop for three strangers that looked like an episode of _Swamp People_ waiting to be filmed? Aubrey wasn’t sure that she would be nice enough to trust three dirty strangers on the side of the road, and the three of them were throwing their cards into the “altruistic passerby” hat. The hot sun and dehydration began to play tricks in the road, as fatigue overcame her. Mirage puddles formed far ahead of her in the road. _I went from freezing to burning. What circle of Hell have we entered?_ She wet her lips, hating how parched she was. The craving for a big, juicy hamburger with iced water only made her walk faster. Hyram remained strong as ever while Connor began to show his own symptoms of wear and tear. Maybe she should joke about the rain returning and see if it changed his expression.

“You never told us where you were hiding,” Aubrey struck conversation up with Connor, grazing the forbidden subject. She returned to focusing on the road ahead, avoiding any awkward eye contact like the night before.

“I climbed up to the second floor of the main building and then fell through the floor into the cafeteria,” he informed her.

“What, really?” Aubrey questioned. “But I checked the cafeteria. I didn’t see you.”

“Was that before the rain washed me off? I was kind of buried in soot,” he went on. “I came to in the middle of the storm.” Her cheeks flushed red out of embarrassment. She had overlooked Connor’s unconscious body which should have been right in front of her. Her rue of the moment was quickly shelved when she wondered about the cafeteria itself. Was there something else she had missed when looking through the small window?

“Car behind,” Hyram shouted energetically, bringing Aubrey to a one-eighty where she spotted the silver four-door approaching. It was too far to view the occupants but it had enough room for them to fit comfortably. The car appeared to follow the speed limit, but upon the cameraman’s flagging they slowed down and pulled off to their side of the road. After several had already ignored them, it was nice to finally meet a driver actually interested. It was unknown where the group sat on telling the entire truth about what had just happened to them, and that was something they all needed to talk about very soon, among other things.

In the driver’s seat sat an elderly woman with notably disheveled locks of gray hair resting on her shoulders. Her frail face emanated wisdom as she looked them over. Thick-rimmed spectacles rested on her nose, which caught Aubrey by surprise. She had never imagined that thick glasses were at all appealing outside of high school, much less with the older people. Even more notable was her old fashioned sunflower blouse. It screamed vintage and milkshakes to Aubrey. The older driver rolled down her passenger window and leaned over from her seat. “You kids look like you’re in trouble?”

“Trouble’s a word for it!” The cameraman replied, smiling giddily. “Our car broke down back in Arcadia Bay and we have no cell service.” The old woman attentively gestured for them to get in the car, unlocking the doors. Aubrey was glad that she was so forthcoming and grabbed the handle of the nearest back door. Connor chose the front passenger and Hyram offered his thanks while taking the other side of the car. Opening the door, she took in the distinct smell she always associated with elderly people.

“You can try my landline back home. We’re only a ways away,” the older woman explained shortly. “But you have to help carry in my groceries.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Connor remarked, fastening his seat belt up front. Aubrey had settled in, but she wouldn’t call it comfortable yet. She was still conscious of her disgusting appearance from a night of sleeping in the forest. She fastened her own seat belt, glaring at the jokester crashing into his seat.

“How long have you had these car troubles?” The old woman posed her question with soothing concern. Hyram looked to Aubrey for guidance on what to reveal, and she simply shrugged and raised her arms up in ambivalence.

“Since last night,” he answered short and sweet.

“Why are you all dirty, though?” The woman requested further clarity, which was fair.

“We had hiked up towards the highway when it started raining,” Connor swooped in to save them. “It was awful.”

They elicited a pitying whine from her, as she stared through the rear-view mirror. Aubrey fidgeted at the thought of being judged on her current appearance, but had a hunch that the old woman wasn’t doing that.

“You poor kids. I have two bathrooms and a wash room. You can freshen up nice and right while you sort things out,” she invited. Just hearing the word bathroom lifted Aubrey’s spirits to the clouds.

“Thank you, for taking the time to hear us out,” Aubrey’s apprehension was slowly exiting. “And for trusting us.”

“Oh honey, it’s all right. Even if you tried something, I’d just shoot you with this gun up here,” the old woman revealed. The three of them mutually shared a nervous look, though Hyram’s sarcastic grin broke through and set the mood for the rest of the ride. “I spent my time in the USAF. I can kick anybody’s butt.”

“Oh my god,” Hyram whispered, clutching his face. Aubrey found a smile taking over on her end as well. “She’s adorable.”

Feeling so content with their savior, Aubrey rested her eyes. The car ride was pleasant enough, with just the right amount of heat and air conditioning. The old woman asked them basic questions such as names, occupations and ages. Their new driver thought that Hyram was her boyfriend, an amusing change from Connor. As she told them, her house was only “a ways away”. The driver’s name was Rebekah Logan Leonardson, and she was glad to make their acquaintance.

The driver pulled into a cracked driveway connected to a house that due to its apparent size had to be deceptive at first glance. The yard contained a gnarly garden that covered its corners, giving the impression that her tiny home had to extend out to the back of property. After all, she had said two bathrooms and a washroom. There was no way that the cute, indigo home could be that small.

It was virtually isolated. Other houses were hidden in the light forest, giving Aubrey cause to wonder where in the world they were at. She didn’t recognize the area from landmarks alone, and being this close to her old town meant she should know.

The driver popped her trunk, and the trio obliged on their promise to carry her groceries in. Once inside, Aubrey respected the taste of the homeowner. Everywhere she looked was old, but fine pieces of furniture. The architecture differed from the usual northwestern style and felt more like a Texan build. The floor was tiled wood, rather than carpeted. The fireplace was exactly how she loved: built out of a stone and brick mix though dusty. It hadn’t been used since the last winter, she thought. She also fell in love with the living room set up, where two segmented sofas faced one another and a huge wicker coffee table set in the center.

She found herself plopped onto the sofa and, at Miss Leonardson’s permission, used her phone charger to plug in and charge. She quickly procured water bottles from the kitchen—again, politely with Miss Leonardson’s permission—distributing them to both boys and clearing her mind of the past day’s distractions, even if only temporarily. Upon turning on her phone, however, paradise was lost. After five more attempts of flipping her data on and off to get a connection, she gave up all together and left it to continue charging.

The two boys weren’t as bedazzled and instantly sought out a bathroom to clean up. The wonderful homeowner had offered them a basket and made sure they had no special wash instructions for their clothes before extending the offer to Aubrey. Aubrey thankfully had no special wash instructions, so she gave up her clothes and had them replaced with a fuzzy white towel.

She spent at least an hour in the bathroom, enjoying the pictures of nature all over the wall next to the sink. Satisfaction wasn’t achieved until every inch of dirt was scrubbed off, and shampooing her hair was an added luxury she took advantage of. Her mind wandered during the shower time, worrying about her family, Connor, her car and then their host. _I have so much shit to worry about on top of this trip. Hope my laptop survives or else I’m failing Forensic Science._

Once she was dry and presentable, she exited the bathroom and walked over to the sofa, where she realized her cell phone had regained signal at some point, but then lost it once more. While the thought of sinking into the sofa and forgetting her problems once more was tempting, she should first deal with the chance that someone tried to contact her. The phone was, as it had been during the entire trip, a frustrating reminder that they weren’t out of the woods yet. As she thought, there were ten messages sitting in her inbox. Aubrey knew who they would be from, and upon picking up the phone and swiping to open them, she was bombarded.

 

 

_Jack_

_Look. I’m sorry Aubrey. I just want you to think about the bigger picture from now on. I love you, but I can’t keep stressing over your decisions._

_Jack_

_Aubrey? Gonna ignore me now? Is this how you want to solve problems from now on?_

_Jack_

_Mature. When you want to be treated like an adult, let me know._

_Jack_

_It’s midnight. What the fuck are you doing? You said you’d have your phone the whole trip. I’m not sure whether to be worried or not._

_Jack_

_Please tell me you’re okay_

_Jack_

_Aubrey. Do I need to contact your family? This is really unlike you..._

_Jack_

_If this is punishment for saying what I feel is right, then this is awful. Please don’t do this to me._

_Jack_

_I’m really sorry. Please talk to me…_

_Jack_

_Good morning, Aubrey. I love you._

_Jack_

_Okay. Fuck this. If I don’t hear from you by the end of the night I’m contacting your father. This is crazy and I can’t stand it anymore._

 

 

 _Holy fucking shit, Jack. This is the last thing on my mind, honestly. You need the chill fuck out._ She could try and text her parents and let them know she’s fine before he blew it out of proportion. Although the discovery left her angry, she paused when she considered he was right. This was crazy, the whole situation. Jack’s culpability extended only as far as being an asshole, but he was reasonably alarmed. And if Aubrey couldn’t get her SUV back, then the full story would have to come out. There was a far off thought that the weather and increasing overcast in the sky that blocked her signal had everything to do with Connor’s hypothetical ability. That, in turn, brought the anger back until she lost focus. Taking some more deep breaths, Aubrey released the tension from her chest. _Maybe I should just ask him to clear the sky. Yeah, that’s what I’ll fucking do. Riiiiight._

Getting her clothes clean would come first, and it had only been about an hour or more since she put them in. Their laundry load could be drying by now, or at least the rinse cycle could have just finished. She had stood in the living room with a towel wrapped around her for some time, and she wasn’t about to roam Miss Leonardson’s home practically naked. She would try to calm down and work out a plan once she got her clothes back.

 


	7. Sky Father

**Chapter 7: Sky Father**

 

“That’s basically the whole story,” Connor finished his censored account of the past day, the pleasant taste of the beefy, delicious pot roast still fresh on his recollection. He would not dare mention the lightning bolt, but he did let it slip that they ran into a hostile figure at the school. The host’s reaction was initially the same as Aubrey’s: to contact law enforcement and wait for the suspect to be apprehended. The sympathy that stretched across her features was genuine, though she had admitted she hadn’t encountered anybody with that description since she had moved to the area.

As he learned, they were no longer in Arcadia Bay, but a town approximately 30 minutes away called Barnard. It was hard to focus on the present, with so much that had happened to them. Yes, Connor maintained himself well after the attack, but he had trouble with staying grounded. The world around him seemed to fade in and out, almost as if it was a dream. All he could concentrate on was survival, since that was all his mind could allow. He should have been a lot more jumpy over the circumstances, and although there existed stress on his mind, it was for something else slightly unrelated.

Usually, he would pick up easily on energy in his friend circle, especially the chemistry exhibited between Aubrey and Hyram. During this ordeal, he came to understand that he was absentminded. Hyram might have noticed and said nothing. He had a quirk Connor noticed early on where he would wait to see if someone could fix their own problems before trying to intervene. Aubrey was far more direct, and he knew that she noticed his strange behavior. What he had done couldn’t be helped, but her apprehension towards him was becoming a burden; sharing a room with her continually swelled into an uncomfortable mess of stares and indirect thoughts that remained unspoken between the two of them. All three of them desperately needed to talk about the whole situation, but that felt so hard to do now that they were in the company of a stranger.

As it happened, her landline wasn’t even plugged into the wall, much less working once he fixed the noticeable user error. And sadly, the Ms. Leonardson was living a few decades behind when it came to the tech side of things. She had no computer, a frustrating reminder that the world Connor had grown up with had its luxuries. He wasn’t alone in the feeling, as both the netophile and the bookworm were pretty sick of the series of unfortunate events. _Hah, don’t tell Aubrey I thought of that line. She’ll run with it._

Ms. Leonardson had convinced them to sit in her living room and feast on a homemade meal, and naturally Connor jumped at the chance to help with food preparation. Food, specifically preparing it, had helped get him back on track. It was a hobby he had picked up from a former girlfriend of his, although at the time he hadn’t cared much for it. _If she could see me now, I can kick her culinary ass._ Luckily, the kind old woman had all the classic ingredients for a pot roast: the actual roast, whole onions, carrots, rosemary, broth. Hell, she was even classy enough to add a cup of red wine to the mix. Connor had taken the liberties of spicing it up with simple seasonings, such as a neglected shaker of “soul food”, quite a bit of garlic salt, and Italian herb.

It was such a relief, mostly due to the homeowner’s delight at his additions and his eagerness to help her. In the interest of time, they had skipped the part where hours and hours are spent on slow-cooking the flavor into the meat and vegetables, instead opting to directly boil it on the stove. Hyram had loved it to death, and Aubrey was courteous enough. She had remained standoffish with him since they had begun to eat. With his vitality slowly recovering, it would soon be time to calm her down. There was no way she hadn’t at least suspected—after witnessing the car’s tires melt into the pavement and the doors blown off—that the lightning strike was no mere coincidence. Had they been any closer, they could have been seriously hurt by it.

He had attempted—and failed—to manifest it a second time, nearly convincing himself that lightning tossing was still completely fictitious. There was no covering up the visions he had been shown, with that odd serene voice. Something terrible was going to happen to the world, and there was an honest helplessness to it. Something about entropy spiraling out of control. Recounting the story wasn’t enough to keep his mind from wandering, so he recalled the definition of “entropy” as he was taught in his science class.

It had two basic definitions. The first one was a question of thermodynamics, a quantity representing the inoperability of a system’s thermal energy which would cause a breakdown into disorder or unpredictability. The second definition, much more simply put, was a gradual decline into chaos due to a lack of order. If entropy applied to the whole universe, then the universe had a tendency to lean towards homogeneity. Connor was given an impression that the entropy the voice spoke of was a cosmic force, of course there was no way he could understand any of this and certainly couldn’t prove it. The reverence he had held for Arcadia Bay had been corrupted into fear and uncertainty.

He had lost track of time thinking about entropy, and realized he had tuned out the conversation between Ms. Leonardson and his friends. By the time he came back, he had caught the tail end of the bookworm mentioning that she had grown up in Arcadia Bay, which gave the kind old woman delight.

“You don’t say, Aubrey? How long do you think I have lived here?” Ms. Leonardson placed her half-empty bowl down on the wicker coffee table. She was a cute, grandma-type person, much in the likeness of Connor’s own grandparents. Her sunflower blouse was what sold him on the appearance, in contrast to the duller interior design of her home.

“I’m thinking you left and came back,” Aubrey guessed, staring off past the living room and towards the foyer. Leonardson kept an excessive collection of footwear lined up on a rack, adjacent to a tall, wooden coat rack that Connor thought was a nice change of pace to wall-mounted coat hangers.

“I think so,” Ms. Leonardson appeared troubled in remembering all the facts. “I’m… eighty something. I think eighty nine. My time in the Air Force was a long time ago,” Connor was a wee bit uncomfortable with the idea that an eighty-nine year old woman still carried a firearm. “When I was a little girl, President Truman signed the National Security Act of ‘forty seven, and women could finally serve. I was so excited to be just like my daddy.”

Aubrey’s skeptical frown meant she was running the numbers and processing just how long ago that was. It was probably better for her to lead this conversation, since Connor had nothing good to say about the Cold War era. He’d probably just sound like a jaded millennial. “So,” Aubrey drawled, “did you see action in the Korean War?”

“Never had to be there, but I was involved,” Ms. Leonardson’s blissful expression broke for a split second, and Connor saw the faint glistening in the woman’s light green eyes. “They had me in Johnson AB for the whole thing. I got to stay in Japan nearly the entire time. Time of my life, despite the war.” By now, the light trail of tears had made it down her cheeks. She hadn’t even noticed her own water works, and Connor gave Aubrey a look that meant to cease and desist discussing her war experiences. She caught the message and uselessly stared down at her lap, giving Hyram his opening to spark up a change in topic. Connor hoped he wouldn’t ask something stupid, like whether she had killed anyone.

“What about your life after? What did you do once you got out?” He swerved the conversation in a well intended, pleasant direction. Aubrey no longer appeared disgruntled and instead adjusted her posture on the couch, leaning her head back against the top of the sofa. Connor wished she could feel better, considering the cross behavior she had continued to exhibit.

Leonardson had cleaned her face up, adjusting her seating and folding her hands neatly. She had lived quite a life, and Connor had no idea what stories she probably had locked away. Her response to Hyram, though, took Aubrey by surprise as the old woman perked up and switched out her frown for a warm smile.

“I worked the reception desk of the hospital for a long time, but eventually I took a full time waiting position at the Two Whales Diner,” she chuckled at the memory, obviously lost in sentiment about the whole thing. “I can’t believe it’s gone.”

“Well, it’s still _there_ ,” Hyram jested, receiving a death glare from Aubrey and Connor both. _God damn it, Hyram. Shut up._ The host thankfully took no offense and gestured dismissively at the cameraman.

“You’ve got more jokes than a barrel of seamen,” the awkward phrase left the room entirely silent, except for a certain someone’s nervous chortle. Oftentimes, Connor did think about how Hyram calculated his risk versus reward with his humor. He was only trying to break the tension, as always, but he had been going overboard since the first video they had recorded on break. Nobody understood this as aberrant behavior for the cameraman spare for Connor. To the urban explorer, something was amiss with his dear friend, pairing up with his already convoluted analysis of Aubrey’s odd and sudden mannerisms. “Where’d you find this stray, dear Aubrey?”

“Oh, he’s not mine. He kind of just jumped into my car at the airport, didn’t have the heart to kick him out,,” Aubrey taunted. “He probably needs to go to the pound.” Hyram, visually protesting the judgment of his peers, groaned.

“Come on, I’m a brilliant soon to be pharmacist,” he concluded. This time, nobody refuted his supposition and he crossed his arms smugly. Aubrey’s eyes shifted to the other side of the room, her lip curling at one side of her face. Connor’s own amusement had run dry with Hyram’s usual commentary, but only because the guy was running out of content to work with. _Probably a result of whatever he isn’t talking about,_ Connor thought. _Gosh, we’re all just avoiding subjects today. Gotta fix that._

“Ahem,” Aubrey cleared her throat in the direction of Ms. Leonardson. “You were saying, Two Whales Diner? I ate out there at least once a month!” Connor could tell Aubrey was about to become very involved in reminiscing about the destroyed town. She needed to think about Arcadia Bay in a more peaceful way, so the last day’s worth of bad luck would not ruin her perspective. Remembering the tasty stew in front of him, Connor picked his bowl back up and indulged while the discussion flowed.

“Oh sweetie,” Miss Leonardson chuckled. “It was before your time, for sure. Some nice woman named Joyce took over for me when I retired. She was like me, incredibly strong and not to be taken for granted.” She stopped speaking out of the blue, just as she had eased into the topic. “I gotta remember most of the town is gone. Sorry about that.”

“I remember Joyce,” Aubrey revealed morbidly. “She died in the storm?”

“Her and the whole town. God took a lot of good people that day. I’ve often wondered what his plan was,” Leonardson moved her focus from the living room to the kitchen to her right. “Joyce was dealing with loss for a long time. She had lost her husband in a really bad accident. Oh, I always felt so horrible for Joyce and her little girl,” she stated sorrowfully, taking a deep breath as she continued. “I hope they’re both at peace, now.”

“Both?” Aubrey asked in a tone that Connor at first thought to be curious, but slowly seemed indignant. _What is with you today, Aubrey?_ She hadn’t loosened up or moved her hands from her lap, but she was closely listening to every word said.

“Young Chloe had nowhere to go. She was something, went from an A student with a bright smile to always in trouble, always the talk of the town. If there was a divine plan set out for anyone in this town, it was that girl,” Leonardson shook her head as if affirming her own words. “I’ve never seen a young girl with so much strength. She was just like her mother in different ways.

“I barely remember Chloe,” Aubrey confessed and yet again Connor felt as if she wasn’t being quite honest about this girl. What about this Chloe had Aubrey so annoyed? “I didn’t have many friends when I lived here, but Chloe was in my elementary school year book. I remember a science fair she had entered. The judges liked her stuff, whatever it was.”

“Things changed so much after William Price’s death,” Leonardson sighed. “That town had a disease festering, so much that was bad happening behind closed doors. I always likened William’s death to a guardian angel disappearing forever. Arcadia Bay was worse off without him.”

“Wow,” it was like the air had been suddenly vacuumed out of the room, tightening Connor’s chest considerably from the pure emotion displayed in the old woman’s story. Setting the empty roast bowl back on the coffee table, he worked out the tiny chill that had traveled up his arms. Her description of William Price was heartbreaking. One thing was for sure, he was so glad to have loving parents that were still around. If only he could have met Chloe, she sounded very interesting. Slowly, Connor started to think about how much Ms. Leonardson knew about these people. They sounded like close family friends.

“What was the disease?” Hyram probed, revealing his own immersion into the conversation. The goofy attitude had left the building, this was the Hyram that he knew was full of love and compassion. Connor had a good idea of what Ms. Leonardson was about to say next.

“A man, named Sean Prescott,” she exclaimed. “Truthfully, all of the Prescotts.” Exactly what he had expected to hear, Sean Prescott was the man connected to every controversy he could research on Arcadia Bay. Along with the Prescott Foundation, they were universally despised yet relied upon by the city. This was just the tip of the modern iceberg, too. The family’s shady practices had gone for some time, probably starting around the post-colonial era. Prescott’s business empire also sprawled the entire country, at least until last year. After the storm, Sean Prescott had gone missing and his big corporation had gone under with him. It fueled further conspiracy theories on government-manufactured weather machines, and even reached an investigation by the FBI, according to some less credible sources he had glossed over. The easy, simple conclusion was that Sean died in the storm, same as everyone else. “That damn family had never been told ‘no’ even once in their lives. Especially that man named Harry. Predatory loan shark, really big jerk. Happy those bastards were never one of my customers. Two Whales was too lowly for them to eat there. Don’t even get me going on that brat Nathan.”

“That bad, huh?” Hyram rubbed his chin, ignorant to the worst of stories surrounding the Prescott name. The only knowledge he had learned was, as far as Connor knew, through Connor’s explanation of the Prescott Dormitories. Boy, Hyram was in for a long sad story.

“Bad is too good a word to describe the Prescotts,” Ms. Leonardson hissed. “They put so many of my friends out of work, disrespected property rights across the city, bought and silenced anyone who spoke out against him. I’m sure it wasn’t just limited to the city. Lord forgive me, but thank the heavens he’s gone.” She stifled her words momentarily, exasperating about something she had apparently just remembered. “Glad the storm took that kidnapper with it, too.”

“Jefferson,” escaped Connor’s lips. She nodded with disgust. “The news had enough time to figure all of that out?” His grasp on the timeline for the storm day wasn’t clear, which had been an issue he had tried to rectify since they agreed on this topic for their web show. Information was scarce on details regarding Mark Jefferson’s arrest.

“I’m old, and I don’t remember every detail, but they arrested him and found a whole list of girls he took advantage of. Lucky I didn’t find him, I would have shot his sick ass.” He had to admit that Rebekah Leonardson was a tough old lady, definitely breaking the stereotype he had regrettably accepted with the elderly. Any threat she made could only come off as cute, despite the insinuation of murdering a murderer. “Sometimes, I feel like that tornado was just God’s repeat of Canaan.”

“What?” Connor woke up from his thoughts, staring directly at the old woman. “I don’t follow.” The blonde sitting across from him rolled her eyes, and Connor curiously thought about the word Canaan. Where had he heard it before?

“That the man upstairs wiped this town out for all of its pain and suffering,” she elaborated “Like Sodom and Gomorrah.” Of course Aubrey would recognize a Bible story, since her parents were super Christian. It was painfully clear now that the urban explorer hadn’t read any page at all out of the religious text.

“Sounds omnicidal,” the cameraman slipped. Aubrey would likely shoot him a look, or Hyram may get a rousing jest back from Ms. Leonardson, but Connor felt out of place again. It was a practical thought, one that seeded itself deep inside that he could no longer shake. Just like the story of Canaan, Arcadia Bay was destroyed by acts of God. The reason Connor found his spine tingling was the word “God” itself. What if it were true, that somebody had wiped the town from existence? Who was “God” in this instance?

“You okay, Connor?” Hyram asked from across the living room, sharing a troubled analytical stare with Aubrey. “You look like you’ve—“

“—Seen a ghost, try a less exhausted phrase,” Connor deflected, determined to avoid his discomfort. Aubrey, as she had been doing for the past twelve hours, dropped the concern immediately with a twitch of her chin and, what he presumed, with seemingly intentional ignorance. Regardless of her feigned contempt, he could discern right from her countenance that she still held concern for him.

“Right. Anyway,” Hyram touched the back of his head before propping himself up. Behind him through the window, the sunny morning had morphed into a dreary afternoon, with a dark overcast emerging from the heavens. The narrator’s stomach felt something he could describe as similar to butterflies, an uncomfortable excited energy—or was it better put as uncomfortable anxiety? His mood appeared to morph with the weather.

“Anyway, cooking with you was fantastic, Missus Leonardson,” Connor thanked the chef for all of her hard work, hoping to extinguish the fringe theory from his mind. “Almost as good as my own mom’s recipe.” He wasn’t lying, after all. The pot roast _was_ fantastic, and the last fully cooked home meal he had eaten was over a week before in his tiny dorm room. Though, he was sure everyone would disagree with him on his masterpiece ramen  & chicken soup. Hyram and Aubrey readily agreed, thanking her for a delicious brunch.

The old woman, who had somehow spaced out of her own accord, rose from her seat on the sofa, picked up her half eaten bowl and offered to take Connor’s in as well. The very early conversation they had had about how to get in touch with law enforcement seemed a distant memory from where they stood currently. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it. I rarely get company, and you three have had a crap day. More than happy to improve that.”

“Allow me to help!” Hyram jumped to his feet, taking his own bowl with him. “I can’t let you clean up our mess after everything you’ve done.” Hyram was switching up from his unusual quip-rich demeanor and going full on charming gentleman, as he would occasionally do. That ruined the move Connor wished to make in regards to talking bout the previous day. He would need all three of them to get it going.

“Oh Dear, that would be great,” she accepted his help, slowly walking towards the kitchen from the living room with her load of dirty dishes. Hyram scooped up the rest of them and followed handily behind her. They left Connor alone with his antsy friend, and he decided to try and strike up some friendly small talk. From there, maybe he could bridge into hearing her feel on things.

“Looks like it’s going to rain again,” he casually pointed out the window, though Aubrey chose not to stare with him. Instead, she focused _directly_ on him, her eyes set as if stone. A slow, auspicious smile wrapped around her face, and eventually the freckles on her cheeks moved as well to reveal her teeth.

“Yeah, I’m almost certain the lightning will strike again,” she drawled sarcastically. It dawned on him that perhaps her gripe came from the powers he had unexpectedly exercised back at Blackwell, and impulsively he stood up from his spot on the adjacent sofa. His intentions had been to apologize, but something had broke deep inside that brain of his. When he opened his mouth, all he could do was grit his teeth. Speech was hiding somewhere in the back of his throat while he came to terms with why the blonde had been acting so different towards him. Why was he having so much difficulty?

“I-I uh, really don’t know how to,” he started frantically, when she decided it was time to talk over him. She defensively folded her arms, though the sudden confidence in her eyes was enough to make him feel cornered. The elephant in the room was going to be addressed, finally. Whether Connor liked how it was handled no longer mattered.

“Don’t know what, the part where you blew up a car with energized plasma, the heavy storming that followed, how you’ve acted completely cool about how we were _nearly fucking killed,_ or how you disappeared for twenty minutes while we ran around the damn school trying to save you?” She sharply interrogated him. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve never felt more crazy in my life. I’ve gone back and forth, gaslighting myself about what I saw. Is this real? How do I even know that you’re the real Connor Papworth?”

Snickering, Connor anxiously lifted his arms behind his head. “Jesus Christ, that where you’re going with these accusations? That I’m some dimensional ghost that body-snatched some poor kid who’s known you since you were fourteen? Do I need to list off important dates?” It sounded like she had started to distrust him, and he conceded that it was probably healthy. “In my defense, I was having an episode after the attack. I don’t remember much of actually _being_ there.” _Not only that, but I was fucking exhausted, like it drained energy out of me._ He wouldn’t be able to discuss what she really saw at the school if she kept the hostile attitude. “Just relax, Aubrey. You aren’t thinking clearly.”

“Tell me I’m not thinking clearly one more time,” she chided. “Why did we survive, Connor? What stroke of luck is it that lightning hit exactly his car, exactly at that moment, _not mine_ , or _any of us_ , or _literally anything else_?”

“I don’t know what to say,” Connor averted, yet again. He was unprepared for this, growing restless throughout his body. Tackling the explanation was becoming one hell of an exercise for him, for even now that they were effectively dealing with it, he tripped over his own thoughts and words. She knew exactly what she had seen, and he didn’t know how to counter that. Even he wasn’t sure what had happened until he woke up the next morning. It wasn’t something he was ready to just up and admit to aloud. “You don’t need to confront me on anything.”

“I think I do, Connor,” her head tilted, her maintained gaze meaning that she wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Will you deny it? Tell me what I saw is just what I think happened, that it isn’t the truth?”

“What the hell is with you two?” the cameraman got in between the two of them in a broken whisper. At some point in the cross examination, he had entered the scene and found it just as unnecessary as Connor had. In one fell swoop, he once again proved to the urban explorer that he was just as attentive as anybody else. “Seriously, I’m tired of the tension. I’ve put it off since last night, but we’re solving it right now.”

“Didn’t think you noticed,” Aubrey remarked. “Thought you were too busy laughing at your own jokes.” The clearly tired Hyram shook his head, grabbing both of them by their shoulders and pulling them in to form a triangle.

“You wanna talk about everything? Let’s deal with it right now.” His vicelike grip trapped Connor and Aubrey into inevitable conflict resolution, but it didn’t need to feel like conflict at all. Aubrey, who was just as strained from the forced huddle, seemed to relax some. She closed her eyes, her chest moving in sync to her breathing.

“Sorry, Connor,” she shortly replied. “Still wanna talk about it.”

“Sure, umm,” Connor imagined that Hyram’s half-informed insertion into the whole argument would leave him even further perplexed by it’s foreboding conclusion. “Should we begin before or after we found the guy with the gun?”

The tension between he and his two friends had real potential to be resolved, had it not been for the three knocks that directed everyone’s attention to the house foyer. Perhaps it was destiny that kept preventing the group from expressing their feelings on the matter. _Definitely didn’t expect that for a deus ex machina_. Although they were still invested in solving their own problem, the uninvited visitors were enough for Hyram to completely release both of them. Ms. Leonardson had spoken little about her friends and family, leaving Connor to suspect she may have had none to begin. He hadn’t a hint as to who could be behind the door, in the rain, or what their intentions would be.

From the kitchen emerged the old woman with her still-disheveled gray hair, breaking from the cleaning that Hyram had apparently dropped out of.“I got it. You kids stay comfy,” the determined Ms. Leonardson started her elderly race towards the front door. “I’ll see who it is.” As she marched past them with a bottle of water in hand, the trio in the living room were curious about the visitors. Connor observed her leaning up on her tiptoes, examining the peephole, and then unlatched and opened the door. The outside world teased them with the sound of light drizzling, water pelting the cement porch outside the door. She then positioned herself in the opening, obscuring the visitor from view.

Although they were ways away from the front door, Connor could catch most of the conversation. He heard two voices, a male and female, though the man sounded British. Those three facts on their own gave no indication to who they could be, but he continued to eavesdrop.

“Hello, Missus Rebekah Leonardson?” The man’s voice began, and once Ms. Leonardson verified he continued. “My name is Royston Dannel, and this is my associate Ashton Barry. I’d be in your debt if you could help us.”

The view was still obscured by the old woman’s figure, but Connor could just make out the outlines of the guests from beyond the door; and when he realized he had seen the nicely tucked coats and the four-door sedan before, his heart briefly stopped.

“Forgive me, Mr. Dannel,” Ms. Leonardson, setting the water bottle down on the floor, reached for something else that Connor couldn’t see behind the foyer walls. If he had to guess, she was going to grab a baseball bat or something like one. That settled it for him, for if Ms. Leonardson didn’t feel safe around them, neither did he. “But I’m not big on letting strangers into my home. You understand us elderly folk enjoy our privacy.”

“Lucky us,” whispered Hyram. He received a very brazen shushing from Aubrey, to Connor’s approval. The jokester shattered his focus, but only for a moment as he tuned back into the showdown between the retired Airforce woman and the mysterious detectives.

“Understandable, we’re just Private Investigators looking into a few things in the area,” the man released a friendly chuckle, somewhat unnerving for someone just showing up at one’s door. “This is definitely some funny weather we’re having, especially in the middle of Spring too.”

“Completely unprecedented,” a lighter voice coming from the female associate indicated she wasn’t as friendly. “Would love to know why meteorologists are falling on their face over the weather anomalies.”

“Yes, it does strike me as something this region has experienced before,” the British man asserted. “May we come in?” What exactly were they looking into, and why were they showing up to her door of all places? Connor hoped with every fiber of his being that she would not let them even an inch inside her home.

“I’d prefer if you stayed right there,” their host declared, and the wooden cane came into view. The sight of an eighty-nine year old woman about to put the beat-down on two potential G-men would’ve been hilarious at any other moment, and yet he wanted to believe in her abilities more than ever before. “Let’s see those PI licenses.”

“Oh,” the British man languished. “Of course,” although it was still an unclear view, he rose his drop-down wallet up for Ms. Leonardson to scrutinize. “Now if you wouldn’t mind, it is raining.”

“You aren’t wet,” Ms. Leonardson moved her unarmed hand out the door, pointing in a direction that Connor couldn’t see. Assuming that it was the female associate, maybe she had an umbrella in use.

“Just ask the questions, we don’t have all day,” the irritated woman—Barry, was it—briskly said. It was a natural response to rush when the day turned cold and rainy, but Connor presumed that her response was far from a natural one. Barry had a roguish disposition, while Mr. Dannel was oddly composed. When he had seen them last, on the side of the road in some form of argument, they weren’t acting out of their asses. The blond-haired woman was upset and the man looked like he had been defeated. To hear the man speak like a robot and the woman like she wanted to be anywhere but here, was very strange.

“Fine, fine,” the one called Mr. Dannel apologized. “Would it be okay if we asked you questions here?” Ms. Leonardson’s roadblock alleviated a lot of the anxiety Connor grappled with, but he still wanted to avoid any and all interaction with the detectives. Showing up to the old woman’s door was one thing. If they had any idea that the three of them, after what they experienced, were inside, they would be roped into any subsequent investigation. Judging from how they had operated so far, and the strangely specific nature of their talking points regarding the weather, Connor leaned on the supposition that they knew something that the rest of them didn’t.

Someone had tapped him on the shoulder, and Connor spun around to see Aubrey wearing a serious, worried visage. She gestured with a retreating motion to leave the room. Hyram was already following suit, heading towards the washroom without hesitation. They were positioning themselves to flee through the backyard and for good reason, he assumed. Rising from his seat and joining them in the washroom, he overheard some bits of the questioning.

“We’re looking into a missing person, goes by the name of Hugh Olhouser. White man, six foot, enormous beard. Driving a beige SUV. He was an Arcadia Bay resident, but reports indicate he’s not only alive but rather dangerous.” Beige SUV. He was driving Aubrey’s car, worst case scenario confirmed. Was it crazy to consider that maybe these two could help them?

“Don’t know the man,” Ms. Leonardson told them. “Can I see a picture?”

“We have to go, like right this instant,” Aubrey whisked Connor by his wrists and, before he could object, they crossed through the backyard in no time. The idea was definitely still in his head, that they could be trying to hunt down the psychopath who had attacked them, and they might have been able to get Aubrey’s SUV returned to her. If that was the case, then they were committing to a total mistake. Aubrey’s unrelenting march didn’t stop until they had entered the brush line and were completely out of view of the sparsely built neighborhood. She released him and rubbed the rainwater out of her face.

 _I’m getting pretty tired of this week_ , Connor lifted up his wrist and flexed the minor pain away, now free. Hyram hadn’t questioned her immediate order to leave the old woman’s house, but Connor was finally going to take care of the previous conflict before this was taken further.

“Okay, what the fuck is—” was all Hyram managed before Connor put pause to his thoughts.

“I blew up the car with a thunderbolt,” Connor blurted out, causing Hyram’s emotions to contort through the emotional spectrum for a hot minute. “I’ve been dissociating for the past twelve hours.” His friend appeared to raise his finger to at first make a remark, or possible further questioning, but for the first in a long time, Aubrey was the one to make a quick reply.

“Knew it,” she said, nearly deadpanning the moment. The revelation was about as shocking as he had expected it to be on Hyram, who took several steps away while absorbing the entirely momentous fact. Aubrey, on the other hand, looked fairly relieved that it was out in the open. “Was that so damn hard to admit, Connor?”

“Yo,” Hyram apparently had trouble finding the words, because that was all he could stomach to begin with. The silence he shared with them did not linger, as he finally exploded. “What the fuck is going _ON_?”

“Our best friend here is a lightning thief, it’s that simple,” Aubrey noted. Connor wondered how long she had thought about referencing that damn book before making the connection. _Knowing her, she had probably thought about it all day long._ “What?” Aubrey asked, noticing Connor’s sappy judgmental face.

“You expect me to just, what, believe you’re suddenly ordained ‘super hero’?” Hyram questioned, leaving Connor leaning on one hip and folding his arms. He then realized how amused his superpowered friend was by the comment, and scoffed. “Seriously! Aubrey, I’d expect you to be the last person to believe this. That’s the shit you’ve been steaming over all day?”

“Yep. Crazy. That’s me,” Aubrey dismissed him, folding her arms as well. “And those two back there were definitely the last people that needed to see Connor.”

“I have a slightly different impression” Connor timorously said. “We may be fleeing from the only people able to help us.” It was impossible to shake the thought now that it was there, and yet his beach blonde friend adamantly shook her head in disagreement. As for his other buddy, Hyram was still in his ‘freak out’ stage where he didn’t know what to say or to whom.

“Connor,” Aubrey’s eyes were a door into her current mindset; she was extremely threatened by the two detectives, and for reasons he could understand. It had been the same for him only five minutes prior. “They literally dropped the word ‘anomalies’, mentioned the storm, and are looking for someone named Hugh Olhouser. Now, if these had been separately mentioned, I’d think this is me grasping at straws, but… together? Felt deliberate.”

“You didn’t even hear the part where they mentioned ‘beige SUV’,” the narrator inserted quickly.

“You think they’re government agents or something?” suggested Hyram, his skepticism still brewing in the cauldron. “Should we alert Alex Jones?” The editor glowered at Hyram, drawing a retiring frown out of him.

“Remember what I asked you to do this morning? Be nicer until we’re safe?” she prompted him on an agreement that they had made while Connor had been just waking up to hear. They had thought he was asleep, and while part of his brain would have found that conclusion a fair assessment, he had heard the whole thing.

“Aubrey, I’m with you. It’s just that we’re college kids in over our heads, and it’s crystal clear we aren’t involving the cops at this point, so I thought—“

“We are absolutely involving the cops,” Hyram declared, putting a line in the sand. “So show me this power, _Static Shock_. Blow up a tree or some shit.” While he probably meant no harm, Connor immediately sensed the pressure on his back from the demand. He didn’t know how to control anything yet, and blowing up a tree in the forest didn’t require explanation for how bad of an idea that was.

“Knock it off,” Aubrey took a stance between the two of them, in an interesting twist to what had been the opposite about ten minutes ago. Connor could speak for himself, having finally admitted to Aubrey she was right about her suspicions. He now had to convince Hyram of his power, rather than simply acknowledging it. A hard task, but he was sure glad to have her on his side at the moment. Hyram was not so normally stubborn, and it was a wall that might prove troublesome if Connor couldn’t work through it. He was trying his best to understand these powers, more than they ever wold.

“So he can’t do it?” the cameraman grew an annoyed grin, his eyes slamming shut. “So when’s the prank end? You guys have me going pretty well.”

“He can’t do it because it would cause irreparable harm to the environment and probably everyone who lives here,” she articulated, booming with frustration at Hyram. “Don’t you fucking get it? You know how dangerous what you’re asking him to do is?”

“I’ll prove it to you, but not here,” Connor said, hitting both Aubrey and Hyram with a somewhat expected outburst. The other boy’s sudden approving glance indicated he was placated, though taking the reveal with a pinch of salt. Aubrey hadn’t voiced dissent on the matter but she definitely wasn’t happy about it. “I need us to go somewhere, first.”

“Where do you wanna go?” she asked him, and he couldn’t understand why she was taking such care with him all of a sudden. It was nice, as per usual with their friendship, but he doubted that it would last once he explained his next sentence. “We’re still SOL on a ride.”

“I want us to go back to Arcadia Bay,” he said, watching them stare back blankly at him.

“Why?” Aubrey inquired, taking a brand new tone of skepticism herself.

“Well aside from the obvious reasons, the way I see it those agents or whatever, are looking into the same thing we are,” Connor put his thoughts into words. “The Arcadia Bay storm. Everything has a link here: I received visions while I was knocked out, some dude you said was babbling about an oracle tried to shoot us, woke up with powers that can manipulate the weather—”

“Visions?” His two friends nearly collided words. _Oh Shit, I didn’t even tell them about that._ There was no way he would divulge the contents of that vision right now. Connor realized he was practically building Hyram’s case for him but continued to tread on.

“I’ll explain everything,” Connor said with a raised hand, as if trying to talk them down.

“I thought it was just lightning,” Hyram chuckled dubiously. “Are you okay, pal?”

“I’m not done,” Connor said in defiance, earning him a begrudging nod from the other boy. He didn’t give a rat’s ass at this point about how mental he sounded. “Judging from what I’ve heard about the Prescotts, what Miss Leonardson told us about, our own experience and the fact that Sean Prescott went missing right after the storm… I think we can piece them all together. Do you understand what I’m getting at here?”

“Prescott died in the storm, like everyone else,” Aubrey reasoned. “Fairly obvious conclusion, I’d guess. So what?”

She had tasked him with doing the writing for their webshow and, as such, required extensive digging on his part. She clearly overlooked a lot of the notes he had put into their cloud drive, or just forgot due to the stress of the day. He would gladly remind her. “No. Sean Prescott wasn’t even in Arcadia Bay when the tornado came in. He then went missing and the _declared death absentia_ laws for Oregon are… what, five years?”

“What _are_ you getting at?” Aubrey asked him one more question, before she gasped at his next point.

 _Here goes_. “What if he isn’t dead? If so, what if there’s a connection with that to Hugh Olhouser?” At this point, Connor was ready to believe anything.

“How could you come to that conclusion?” she countered. So she had heard the questioning as they left the house too. Good. “That’s really a stretch, don’t you agree?”

“Not as much of a stretch as lightning thief was,” Hyram surmised. “Big lack of evidence, but although I don’t like to entertain the ramblings of an insane person, maybe Atmo-Man here has a point about Olhouser. _Maybe_.”

“I’m not insane,” Connor said in a risen tone. “But Olhouser certainly was. He still has your car, and all of that stuff we left at the camp is still out there. None of us want to go back, I agree with that, but if we aren’t gonna clue in the detectives or go to the police, then this is on us.”

“Risking our lives over a bunch of tech and my car?” The blonde cynically asked. “At this point, I wanna solve the mystery about your powers and everything else, but I don’t know what will convince me to just _go back_ the way things stand.”

“Just having my abilities is a risk at this point,” he began, ignoring another scoff from Hyram. He was being an asshole about this, but Connor could wait until he was proven wrong. “I could hurt people if I don’t figure this shit out. And about those guys back there? If they know he has the SUV, then that means they know it belongs to you,” Aubrey’s next look was a weird mix of despair and panic. She might have realized that they could have already contacted her family, maybe even released one of those ‘wanted suspect’ things, called APB’s, on her. He caught her before she started to scratch her arms again, unceremoniously pointing out the habit. “And you were posting about visiting this place before the signal kicked, weren’t you? Anyone could figure that out if they dug enough.”

“God, like those PI’s,” Aubrey whispered in a shivery voice. His intention hadn't been to scare her, and immediately felt contrite over it.

“Either way, we’re fucked?” Hyram cricked his neck while checking their back. “What are the consequences at this point? I’d like to weigh our options.”

“Well,” Aubrey spoke, severely frustrated. Her eyebrows were flat and her mouth had tightened into a frown. “We get detained, questioned, it blows up, my family tries to never let me see you guys again.” Her eyes met Hyram’s, and then she moved on to Connor. “Unlikely they find out about you, but something could always happen.” _Yeah, like tight-lipped government agents finding a way to get it out of us_ , Connor thought.

“Or, we get killed chasing a goose, or we uncover something relevant to what’s going on with your so-called powers,” the cameraman expressed, remaining a tough person to convince. Connor’s logic, despite it’s gaps, was starting to sway Aubrey. Was there a correct way out of this situation?

Out of the blue, yet another surprise occurred as the popping notification of one’s phone sounded off. In this instance, such a noise would be a salvation to hear, as all three of them checked their phones furiously to verify if they had a stable connection. As Connor scrolled through his miscellaneous notifications; a few displaced texts from friends and family, and his email, but unfortunately nothing stuck out to him.

“Nothing here,” Connor reported to the group, awaiting an update from his two friends. Hyram had buried his face in his phone, even keeping it eye level as he read. He gradually lowered the phone back to his midriff, scratching one side of his face with the unoccupied hand.

“Well, we had signal for a second. Just got in about a day’s worth of shit.” He told them, a splash of disappointment in the way he said it. “What about you, Quantico?”

Aubrey didn’t respond. As a matter of fact, Aubrey was frozen in place, her hands steadily starting to shake. She looked like a newborn animal, trying to take it’s first steps. Connor and Hyram both reached out to stabilize her, and she pulled away immediately. He didn’t understand what she had seen to make her this upset. Aubrey, a hailstorm of a woman, was trembling before the sight of whatever she had just read on her phone.

“What’s up?” Connor comforted her from a distance, ascertaining the issue. After multiple deep breaths and an unclenching of her jaw, Aubrey flashed them her phone screen.

 

From: [missblue@nodface.d9](mailto:missblue@nodface.d9)

To: [AubreyRevoir@exploretruth.d9](mailto:AubreyRevior@explorebrigade.d9)

Subject:

No time. Prescott Estate soon.

 

Signature: -_-_-_NOEMOJI_-_-_-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly missed my promised deadline due to a funeral. So, here we go. The breaks on this car no longer work. We're speeding in, hope my readers are ready.
> 
> Revised 7/8/18 for consistency.


	8. A Price to Pay

**Chapter 8: A Price to Pay**

 

Upon return to the remnants of Arcadia Bay, Aubrey felt a ghost of a shiver roll down her spine. For all the good childhood moments she had built here, they had been consumed by the silhouette of the so-called Hugh Olhouser, the dangerous man that had nearly kidnapped them. His face had lurked in everything she had stared at during the walk back. It hadn’t necessarily struck her how accepting she was of Connor’s newfound powers nor the profound aversion to law enforcement over their nightmarish adventure until then. But above all else, it was the straightforward email that got in her head the hardest. She couldn’t backtrace it, no way to run checks on who it could belong to. They were following the demands of the unknown respondent and headed to the Prescott Estate, where either a trap or a mysterious break awaited.

For all the good it did, all Aubrey had to work with was that Connor had acquired some kind of ability to manipulate weather that he claimed was based on strong feelings, or at the least, manipulate some parts of the weather. So far, she knew for sure he could summon lightning, perhaps thunder. Whether the rain and wind had anything to do with his powers, maybe as side effects, she couldn’t say. He also mentioned the totem pole in the school, which left him sounding even more unbelievable. This was an entirely unfounded train of thought, with no evidence at all to support it. The blonde was running purely off of his word at this rate, and although she ambled just out of view of the cracked road, his word was merely a confirmation of what she had already been party to; that being the death defying save that he had miraculously pulled off, if not a little bit reckless at the same time. It didn’t sit well with her that the only other person who could have witnessed the event refused to even consider that it was real. But why should Hyram, given the tale she and Connor had constructed? Her superpowered friend certainly didn’t sound well in the head, especially with his sudden fixation on the Prescotts. The email just so happened to coincide with his theory, adding even more controversy to the disagreements the three of them had shared.

Besides, Connor was currently acting as the brains of the operation, having convinced them to set foot back in one of the last places she had wanted to revisit. Getting closure, in her view, had always mandated that they return. It’s not something she wanted to admit, nor a place she wanted to return to ever again. Yes, despite the trauma inflicted by Hugh Olhouser, she had agreed to return. Here she walked only a few blocks from the Prescott Estate, setting aside her last chance to hitchhike as far away as possible with another stranger. _Are we even going to see Missus Leonardson ever again? What could she have told the detectives? Are we actually going to meet them right now?_

Along the daunting path back to the city they had escaped from in the early hours before, Hyram had entertained that the their story was a million dollar publishing waiting to happen. He did express sorrow at the fact that, during their escapades—well, it didn’t feel quite like an adventure, given all the running and internal screaming she had gone through—he had lost his camera. She wasn’t, since he had saved her from certain doom by breaking it over the shooter’s head. She always had the camera on her phone, as did the boys on theirs, but they were still down ample signal as well as decent film equipment. That was something she had hoped to correct if they made it back to the camp. As much as she hung on to the possibility of swinging by Blackwell’s former campus, it was too far out for their current mission. With danger lurking around every corner, they didn’t have time to take a detour. They would stake out the old home of the Prescott family and see who wanted to meet them there. She expected to find nothing in terms of evidence that Connor might stumble upon, but with how insane this chapter of her life was going, holding her breath on his theory wasn’t out of the question.

If it did prove to be a fruitless endeavor, she worried about how Hyram would react to it. Among other things that could go wrong, as well. Mister jokester had gone full blown Dana Scully since Connor dropped the ball on his superpowers. Her superfriend wasn’t the only one who had a lot riding on this; Aubrey forced him to promise that they’d leave it all in the hands of the constabulary if this stop went south, which was a lot for her to concede given the consequences that awaited that decision. The constant threat of murder, kidnapping, or possibly even arrest loomed. No matter how she had looked at Connor’s new powers, they were completely in over their heads.

“Almost there,” Connor announced as he peered around a crumbling building corner, phone in his hands. They were traveling along a side road that she was not really familiar with, a guilty thought she had considering how much of her childhood had been spent learning the bus routes and sidewalks throughout the city. The GPS on Connor’s phone was still off in ways, having nearly directed them to the center of town at one point before course correcting to the appropriate path. At this rate, they could just see the foundation of the Prescott Estate sticking out from the ground. It was yet another testament to mankind’s resilience against the earthly hazards.

“See any people?” The blonde asked their leader, as she had found no trace of anyone among the wreckage.

“Not yet. Not sure what to expect from miss blue,” Connor admitted, ducking through a hole in a barely-standing brick wall. “We can case the place from the shadows, see where our vantage points will be. If there’s nobody there when we arrive, I really want to search around,” as if they didn’t already know what else had been on his mind. Aubrey wanted to support him, but she wasn’t nearly as suspicious of the Prescotts as he continued to be. Still, the unknown email did request a meeting at the Prescott Estate, so there had to be something to all of it.

“What else will we be looking for?” Their cameraman asked carefully, checking his own surroundings before ducking around the next alleyway corner. Even though he didn’t believe a lick of what Connor had said, he was at least cooperating. The email was something he couldn’t deny, that there was someone at least aware of what was happening, far more than Aubrey or her two friends at the least. That is assuming the email wasn’t some ploy by the two men, or in this case man and woman, in black that were searching around. That reminded Aubrey to mind her own as she mimicked the boys’ trailblazing, ensuring nobody was watching from afar as they neared closer and closer to the destination.

“Documents, safes, storm cellars, anything that could house clues about the Prescott’s connection. If there is any,” Aubrey clarified before Connor had a shot at answering. “All things considered, we’ll be lucky if we find anything that’s intact.”

“Not sounding good so far,” Hyram replied, with a tone Aubrey didn’t particularly care for at this point. If he was going to be an obstruction, then the only word she could fathom to describe him as was useless. He would either help them or get out of the way. _I don’t know officer, he passed out from shock over the thunder and lightning that came down right in front of him._

“Good thing you’ve got nothing else to do,” Connor readily replied. “For the most absurd in our circle, you sure are slow to even consider this.” This did not elicit a reply from Hyram, who had stopped walking and raised a hand next to his ear. He was listening for something, and the catalog of things that meant danger when heard had grown since she last perused it. Nonetheless, they all ceased and tuned in to the sound of the world around them. A faint breeze raced through the dead town, with the occasional bird thrown in. The roar of car motors or gunshots were high up on things they probably didn’t need to hear, but truthfully they should have been able to even pick out conversation from a street over with how quiet it could get in Arcadia Bay.

In a short amount of time, they were standing along the outskirts of the Prescott Estate’s curtilage. Having just exited the confining cement roads, the property stretched up to a dwarfed cliff face that overlooked the rest of the neighborhood. She imagined it had been quite a sight when the house was standing properly. In front of them was probably one of the most annihilated homes in the town, with the second story presumably obliterated and the bottom of the house still barely visible. _Oh yeah, Connor’s going to be so disappointed._

“Nobody’s here,” Hyram observed with a studious gaze that Aubrey found her own two eyes fall in line with. The property was littered with the usual, though most of it appeared to have been blown over the cliff face long ago. All that remained were the downed, decaying tree trunks and what she imagined to be the scraped up body of a red pickup truck half-buried in the center of the former home.

“Yet,” she clarified on his assessment that they were alone. “Don’t jump to conclusions yet,” warned the editor. “See anything out of the ordinary?”

“This entire town is out of the ordinary,” Connor stated blankly as he hopped the knee-high fence that now barely served it’s purpose as a barrier. “What do you say that we go around and flank? Make sure nobody’s hiding out first?”

“Gonna shock them if they are?” Hyram asked, and although she was sure he was still standing by his denial of the situation, she almost sensed genuine curiosity behind the question. Connor naturally shook his head and punched Hyram in the shoulder, and the cameraman did not exaggerate the blow or do anything to lighten the mood.

“That’s for yesterday, when you punched me in the chest,” the urban explorer informed the now grinning Hyram. “But for real, you guys down with a flank maneuver?”

“As long as you quit talking like you’re in the army,” she promised, keeping her eyes level and her guard up as they hugged the fence until they hit the property line. Something washed across Hyram’s face, and it was evident he had thought of a joke that remained unsaid.

The steep hill they had to climb slowly merged with the perilous cliff face, and beyond this point required extreme caution; for if they were truly going to keep to the shadows of the pines and what still stood of the Prescott Estate, they had to take care not to slip and a nasty fall to the ground about ten yards below. Once again, she was watching every place that she set her high-tops down at as they progressed around the back of the curtilage.

“You know,” she said to the boys, “that anybody below us right now has a clear shot if they wanted.” Just mentioning the stray thought of the crazy man filling their backs with slugs was enough to stop both Connor and Hyram who, with contemptuous scowls, stared back at her. It had been more stating a fact than it had been a joke, though out of place and inappropriate.

“Not funny,” Connor groaned, resuming the trek along the cliff face. Hyram had not continued, instead waiting for the other boy to put some distance between them before he unveiled a tiny, withdrawn smile.

“Kind of funny,” he assured her, before catching up to Connor. “Stay sharp.” He had managed to get a grin out of her, one that had been desperately needed. They hadn’t even acknowledged that it was nearly 4:30 and they had hiked all the way back through intermittent rain yet again. Unlike the early morning rendezvous, Aubrey felt nothing in the way of hunger or thirst. Even her sore throat had left, but she wouldn’t fall for the idea that her allergies would be kept at bay if their adventure continued Eventually, she would inhale the wrong plant and boom: coughing fits and sniffles, with her luck, at a time where they need to be silent.

They had finally hit the back of the house, noting the contents that were left were scattered throughout the backyard. Furthermore, there was no place inside the foundation suitable for anyone to hide away in. As far as they could tell, they were entirely alone at the Prescott Estate. For now.

The cameraman leaned forward, as if indecisive on the next step to make. Then without further hesitation he approached the structure. “Come on, Connor. Come look through the ruins of pride rock.”

“Heh. That’s one way to categorize it,” Connor remarked, eagerly yet cautiously marching past Hyram and into the back door’s frame. It only took a moment to discern the features of a former screened in porch, with garbage collected in two of the corners. A tattered couch was knocked front-face down into the dirt just outside. Just as she had begun to ease up around the structure two loud thumps from behind a wall petrified her.

Both the cameraman and the urban explorer had stopped, unsure what to do. Had they been wrong about their the lack of other people on property? Were they the intruders this time around? _We’ve always been the intruders._ She searched the ground for anything that could be used as a weapon and, after locating a thick log, settled on it. By the time she lifted her eyes back up to the home, the two boys were each traveling along the inside wall.

She decided to press up against the same wall, and avoided the debris in front of her until she could smell the chipped paint. Holding the thick wooden branch up to bat, she waited for one of her friends to tell her it was either okay or to run. But as the two of them rounded the wall from either side, a huge crack followed by a weirdly familiar hiss sounded out. Almost instantly after, a distant crackle of thunder invaded her ears. Aubrey quickly chose a side and rounded the wall to see Connor and Hyram in a confusing mess on the ground.

Above them, with a twitching tail, was a barking gray squirrel that they had inadvertently pissed off. This wasn’t just any angry squirrel, it was perched at the very top of the wall by this point and was hissing insults in squirrel-tongue. It was at that moment that Aubrey fell to her knees and burst into a nervous, uncontrollable cachinnation. Any attempt to calm herself ended in utter failure, as her fight-or-flight response twisted further and further into her endorphin-fueled guffaw. By now, Connor was trying so hard to stop himself from chortling and Hyram, who should have been all over this goldmine comedy, was freaking out. He was probably worried whoever was looking for them would hear her terrifying cackling.

“S-so,” Aubrey tried to get a complete sentence out, holding her gut as she began to recover, “is th-this the bitch who emailed us?” Although not nearly as funny as the sight of their defeat at the hands of the bushy-tailed woodland creature, her light-hearted humor did get a faint chuckle out of the boy with dreadlocks.

Standing back to his full height and humbly grousing under his breath, Hyram sighed. “We aren’t supposed to fuck with the squirrels.” As the foul creature of the canopy continued its rabid hissing, he tossed a pebble he had picked up at them. The squirrel froze up, and then, twitching like an aggressive chihuahua, leaped from the wall down to the ground and scampered away. The entire altercation had concluded in less than a minute or so, even though Aubrey thought that her lungs were soon to cave from how much laughter forced it’s way out in such a short span.

“So, I’m assuming nobody _else_ is with us,” Connor surmised, “or else your rancid cackling would’ve brought them in.”

Aubrey giggled slightly, though confused as to his wording. With a maintained smile, she replied “Rancid? How does one sound rancid?” _I don’t sound_ that _bad, do I?_

In no more time than it had taken them to circle around the house, the trio had set up a watch, while simultaneously sifting through the remnants for anything that could serve as clues for Connor’s theory. And while the blonde was more than happy to assist, she couldn’t help but start to share Hyram’s cynical perspective on it. It was true that they were screwed in every instance that happened from here on out, especially so until they figured out who the hell was supposed to meet them at the estate—who remained either hidden away or taking their sweet ass time to show up.

Connor had gathered a colorful stack of things from around both the yard and the home. Colorful in this case meant sun stained and at least two years of dirt and mud. That was just for the pieces completely intact. Most of it had been legal records that were barely legible, a lot of business contracts discovered about the home as well. None of it was particularly useful for, well, any of their needs. The only interesting thing that they had uncovered in the mess on the floor was a broken picture frame of a family portrait. The editor assumed that it had to be the Prescotts and bent over to examine it, though the picture itself was partially faded away. The only human face visible belonged to that of a fairly handsome blond with a turtle neck. _Wait a minute_ , she looked closer, recognizing the facial features of somebody she had seen once before while roaming the streets. _Oh! This punk! He was a Prescott?_

“Sup, Aubrey?” Hyram loomed above her, trying to get a view of the item she was currently preoccupied over. Apparently, the huffing she had involuntarily started to do worried him enough that he reached out to take what she was looking at from her hands. _Just seeing his face again pisses me off. I want to punch him so much right now._ She clicked her tongue in disregard for the boy pictured, rising to her feet and handing it over to him. The cameraman looked it over before meeting her eyes. “Okay… what’s pretty boy got to do with this?”

It had been some time since she had first met Rachel. She had been actually planning on hanging out at a local park, where Aubrey had patiently arrived much too early. Passing the time lead her to fawning over the amount of adorable dogs that had come through the park. Eventually, she had spotted a black-coated poodle. He had been filled with so much energy and love, but his owner had neglected any attention for the dog. She had wanted so hard to call for him and watch the ears perk up on his head. This boy had approached the dog instead, and upon trying to reach out and pet it, the dog decided he hadn’t asked permission and snapped at him.

“I’m not kidding when I say I’m pretty sure I saw him kick a cute little dog at a park one time,” she revealed, earning an almost cartoonish repulsion from the boy in front of her. Hyram took the picture and slung it across the yard, shattering the glass framing further than it had already been. The sound of breaking glass forced Connor to pop up from the crouched position he had near the left side yard.

“The fuck did you break?” he called out.

“Not someone’s face,” Aubrey muttered, marching over towards Connor to check on his progress. Still, there was no sign of the person who had told them to show up in the first place. This ‘missblue’ handle was conspicuous in the fact that it gave her the impression that a teenager had coined it. _I mean, kudos on finding a fully worded email address. AubreyRevoir took a lot of thought, still shocked I grabbed it. Still, mine’s better._

“Just a lot of business stuff,” he answered before she could ask a question, Aubrey noting the distressed mug he wore. “Hyram might be right about this.”

“Yeah well don’t let him know that,” she said, a yawn fighting to escape at the same time. “How aren’t you tired, Connor?”

“Who said I’m not?” the brown-haired boy continued organizing the stack of papers with futility until Aubrey bent down on her heels and placed a hand on the papers. He then let go of them and stared up to her. She had only now taken in the sight of his freshly-cleaned jacket and how the color appeared more vibrant than it had, even before he fell through the ceiling.

“Either way, we needed to come here. Whether you find anything to support your claim, doesn’t mean I don’t believe you any less. I mean on the lightning part, I saw it.”

Connor didn’t want to be proven wrong, she could see that everywhere that the boy went and looked. He had made this a very important facet to their adventure, being able to verify what had happened, really happened. Something like a sudden ability that was on par with comic book heroes would definitely be a priority for her too, but not at the expense of her own mental health.

“Hey guys, get over here,” the voice of Hyram requested. “You’ll love what I found.” It definitely intrigued her, since no one had expected the cameraman to be the one to find something here. She looked down at the equally piqued Connor, motioning for him to rise and check it out with her.

“What is it?” asked Aubrey as she rounded the corner of the home, noticing immediately that he was shorter than she remembered. No, he was merely standing into a dugout that they had all missed on first examination. It had been facing away from the home, giving the impression that it was a blend of uneven terrain near the edge of the cliff. As she peered down into it, she could see the collection of muddy water, human garbage, piled up wood and a large metal door joined with a framed keypad. “Holy shit, Hyram. How’d we miss this one?”

“Beats me,” he shrugged, marching up out of the dugout. “But we aren’t getting in. Keypad hasn’t worked since the stone age, there might be some mold in there if we do get in.” This wasn’t good news, yet Hyram was pleased beyond comprehension. She couldn’t figure out why he was so excited, unless he actually thought that finding the door was worth the energy he had expended.

“What’s so…” she tilted her head, leaking a suspicious look, “funny to you?”

“I said _we_ aren’t getting in,” he directed an index finger at himself, and then to her. “But someone who could theoretically break this door in half with a lightning strike could. Am I riiiiiiiight, Connor?” he said in a higher than probably necessary tone to the narrator, who had just joined them in peering down at the door.

“You are right,” he concluded, leaning in to stare at the details of the underground entrance below. “I’m not quite as confident as you believe in these abilities, but sure. On paper, it could work?”

“How would you aim it?” Aubrey shot the question to the unexpected boy. “I’m serious here. Where are you going to stand that doesn’t put you in harms way? If you get jumpy, you could fall off the cliff edge. You could set something on fire, blind yourself. Who knows what could go wrong?”

“Damn, mom,” Hyram groaned, backing away from the two of them. “Let the boy speak for himself. He does the same for you.” _He does the what for me?_ Aubrey turned to view her superpowered friend, who exhibited sudden signs of fatigue in the way he slouched and his erratic movements.

“Let me check something,” he shouldn’t be looking this tired given how in shape he was, so she let herself place the back of her palm on his forehead in an unprecedented gesture. Ignoring Hyram’s demurral, Connor let it happen. He had no time to say no, as her instincts got the better of her. His forehead didn’t feel like he was burning up, but she remained concerned for his well-being.

“Don’t worry, I’m just focusing,” he closed his eyes and offered her a bright smile, though all it did was further her concern. “It’s taking a lot of exertion is all.”

“Don’t kill yourself,” Aubrey begged him lightly, backing away. _What the hell is he focusing on_? “How are you gonna do it?”

“I was hoping you’d have those answers, you’re smarter than us,” Connor slipped, retracting a bit on his own words. “Mostly smarter than us.” _Too late, you already stroked my ego._

“Gee, thanks,” she folded her arms and went hard into thought about how to pull it off. Hyram was on the right track, all right. Concentrated lasers could theoretically cut right through a door so long as it wasn’t sci-fi level thick, though with the nature of Connor’s abilities it wasn’t exactly something they could concentrate or control. The muddied water at the foot of the door might help, as long as nobody was nearby. All in all, distance was a requirement for safety. That left Connor’s position in all of this. She assumed he needed to at least see where he was directing the powers at, but it could arc off and catch him or basically anything that could be too close and conducive.

“What do ya got for us,” Hyram insisted, his furrowed brows visible for the first time in a while. She sighed slowly, thinking about it as if she were about to explain it to an audience of dummies. Not that they were dummies, but so that she would be able to properly convey her logic.

“A lightning strike, if precise, could definitely vaporize the door. All we’d need to do is ensure its a controlled strike. The stuff in the puddle down there will absolutely catch fire, which could make getting in there a pain in the ass. We need to take all of that out. The second problem is the placement of Connor in all this. If he’s too close, he could get electrocuted, blinded or deafened. There’s still a risk of setting the immediate area here on fire as well. A lot to consider, on top of his lack of refinement,” she concluded. “It can absolutely work, but there’s a lot of danger about this.”

“Wow,” the cameraman whistled in awe at her conclusion. “Like, I know that what you’re saying isn’t impressive if it was heard by an actual scientist, but that’s pretty fast thinking.” He panned over to Connor, with an expression Aubrey couldn’t tell was contempt or an extended olive branch. “Are you willing to give it a try, before miss blue the boogeyman shows up?”

“I’ll do it,” Connor promised, the fatigue in his posture disappearing. She didn’t want him to push harder than necessary. Maybe the power required energy, and focusing on it would tire him out. She was sure could see it on her; that grim look of fear that he was going to hurt himself. “Just… trying to figure out how to channel it. Do me a favor and tidy it up?”

They did just that, removing as much of the garbage and wood that had resided at the bottom of the dugout. By now, she could tell that the joker wasn't joking. Nothing about his assertion had been a way to dig at Connor, or belittle him. Hyram genuinely wanted to believe in Connor and what they were telling him, but he couldn’t just drop it without something tangible to go on. She hoped the aim of his suggestion in regards to the door was an offer to change his mind, as they disposed of the last of the stuff pulled out from the front of the metal door.

“How you doin’ over there, superman?” Hyram tossed the question towards the now focusing narrator, his eyes shut tight. She didn’t like where he decided to stand, nearly close enough to reach out past the cliff. A few fence posts were the only thing that he had to latch onto if this blew him backwards.

“If this kills me, you better fucking hope getting through this door is worth it,” Connor audaciously shouted. “Now, what am I missing here?”

“What do you mean?” Aubrey asked him.

“What happened to me last time I did this? Just need to hear someone else say it,” he requested, taking deep breaths as he prepared to do magic.

“We were about to die. You felt helpless to stop it, right? Harness that emotion, maybe,” Aubrey bounced off of him what she thought was his perspective during the Blackwell incident. He had totally and utterly annihilated the shooter’s car. If that power was about to be summoned again, then only the lord knew the scene about to unfold with the absence of a giant metal object coated with plastic to absorb it. She couldn’t pretend to know how he had felt in the moment, but there were a few things that came to her mind about it. Had she been in his shoes, she’d feel a lot more than helpless. Seeing either of them about to be killed, or in the middle of it, would tear her life into little pieces.

The gradual overcast that they had been dealing with all day was rapidly changing direction almost like it was administered. It was headed their way. _Is Hyram seeing this?_ She glanced over to spot his eyes on the sky too, the skepticism soon to be drowned out by whatever insane piece of weather that was about to touch down. There was also going to be some serious ass kissing once he was proven wrong.

“Connor, you got this,” she cheered him on. “Just think about us dying. Oh, god, that was weird to say.” It was needless for her to divulge how on edge this had placed her. She didn’t really know what to do with herself, other than that they needed to be facing away from the dugout when it happened. As the bright sky overhead began to dim, she did just that, with Hyram doing the same. “Just let us know when, okay?”

The crackle from a bolt of lightning popped her ears, droning tinnitus filling in the absence of sound. She felt the heat come down behind them, having already kicked her off her feet and onto her hands and knees. It was even stronger than the first time, causing her to nearly blackout from the strength of the shockwave. The outline of the home and the ground before her were flooded with light, as if hundreds of spotlights had suddenly fixated on their position. It had remained for what felt like an eternity until it dissipated, an electrical discharge sounding off from the area above the dugout. In the clouds overhead, the roaring thunder that always accompanied lightning bellowed across the land. It was almost as if the thunder had announced its interest in the bunker below.

She found her legs and stumbled back to her feet, breathing an enormous sigh of relief to see Connor steadfast and unmoved from his position near the cliff. She could have kissed him in the moment if the thought didn’t immediately give her an awkward pause, but she did run over to him and offer a giant hug. “So glad you didn’t die.”

“Same,” was all Connor admitted, still in awe over his own feat. “Look though.” She twirled around to view the dugout’s metal door and saw that the strike had not only bored a hole straight through, it had split the door down the center. One side had fallen over entirely, while the other one hung ajar. _He really fucking did it! Holy shit!_ She was so happy to be vindicated, not just for the sake of being right and to prove that Connor wasn’t insane. It was further proof in her own mind that she wasn’t insane and going along with this wild goose chase.

She looked around the yard for Hyram, finally setting her sights on the boy who had covered his mouth with both hands, unable to move from the position he had stood in. It seemed that Connor had not only blown his mind, but caused a malfunction in the model that resulted in temporary shutdown. “Hyram, get your ass over here and apologize! Now.”

Once the shock and awe had subsided, and after Hyram had vehemently kissed the ass of the boy he had spent the past few hours disparaging as mentally ill, they descended into the unknown bunker. As if on a timer, a light rain shower filled the scene above as they entered the subterranean lair. Although she had zero expectations about what was inside, the contents of the lair would hopefully give them some clarity for what was going on. As they fanned out in the hardly lit room, they noticed the wall of filing cabinets adjacent to a worn wooden desk with lined papers spread out on its surface. A few chairs and what looked like an empty weapons rack lined the other corner of the room, making it the smallest storm shelter she had ever seen. The blonde didn’t even want to consider how much fungus was probably breeding from the moisture right at the door, so Aubrey dove into searching through the contents of the storm bunker.

She chose to go through the papers on the top of the desk, those being the easiest to organize and sift through. The editor paid no attention to what the others were up to, as they dug through the filing cabinets. She had quickly switched her phone’s light function on and glossed over each piece, putting them together. Most of the papers were part of a set, all having to do with a missing persons investigation that took place in 2010. As she dissected the information, she realized that there was a lot of dirt on Rachel’s father, James Amber. It made sense, given that he had been the District Attorney at that time. He had just ran for election when Aubrey was forced to leave Arcadia Bay, but what stake did a rich tyrant like Sean Prescott have in him?

More information came to light, such as a police investigation into Mr. Amber over alleged evidence tampering and obstruction of justice. Judging from the papers, he was never charged or faced any court time over the allegations. Somehow, that had all went away with some help from Mr. Prescott. She read the number of zeros behind the photocopied deposit receipt going straight into the political action committee dedicated to his reelection. _To hell with him. I always knew he was crooked, but this? Damn!_ The final note she had found sounded something like a warning to the then-defeated Mr. Amber, chastising him for becoming an alcoholic and a failure. Sean Prescott was more than manipulative, it seemed. A total asshole.

Grabbing all the papers she could find on desktop, she then stacked them neatly onto one side of the poorly illuminated desk. She briefly checked on the other two, who were still vigorously at work collecting papers of their own. They hadn’t spoken at all since diving into the activity, though she figured they would say something if it required her immediate attention.

With nothing left on the desktop, she directed her phone’s light towards the drawers underneath and opened them, seeing envelopes of information awaiting her. They had been labeled, though not entirely in a helpful way. _“Evidence of me racketeering, Evidence of the money I stole from cancer patients.” This guy must have been a dumb supervillain._ It must have taken at least ten minutes for her to get a grasp on exactly _how corrupt_ the Prescotts had been, as she piled more and more envelopes onto the desk. For someone as intelligent as Sean Prescott, the moron sure left a paper trail. She was pretty convinced that there had been at least five envelopes that could indict the businessman on racketeering, extortion, bribery, and forged legal documents. She even discovered one envelope dedicated to “Nathan”, who she came to realize was the dreaded puppy kicker she had been subjected to. To say his record was colorful was a fucking lie. After all, everything in the contents of the Nathan envelope was black and white; this kid had problems, serious problems and the dad was too much of a dick to accept his son was insane and needed help.

“Guys, can I just say that Sean Prescott has to be a first-class moron to keep all of this on paper?” she declared, going through more of the contents on the desk. Her thoughts on the matter were impossible to hold in, because of how stupid the decision had been. Sean Prescott couldn’t have built a corporate empire and, along the way, never once considered that he was digging his own grave with this shelter. “Like, did he really think that in 2015, this was a safe room? Someone would have gotten in here without divine intervention. Eventually.”

“Bingo,” Connor shouted, holding up a paper Aubrey could barely make out in the dimly lit room. “Hugh Olhouser, employee payroll for Pan Estates. He was a security guard for the Prescotts.” That was quite the digging, but it paid off as he rushed over to her desk and laid it out. Sure enough, it was a payroll for everyone associated with Pan Estates. Among the names on contracted security, Olhouser’s was right at the top of six other names; the _head_ of security, for that matter. “I’ll accept an apology from you now too, Aubrey.” _So wait, this guy had been head of security but somehow lives out in the woods and speaks in riddles?_

“Sorry, Connor. Even if you’re grasping at straws,” she mused. “I’ve found some things too. Stuff on Rachel’s dad, the Prescott kid, and a mountain of litigation that could have buried this guy. I can’t believe he kept a record of this shit.”

“You might wanna take a look at this first, Aubrey,” Hyram had already taken a stand at the edge of the desk, a shoddy piece of paper in his hands. He appeared shaken by the contents of the paper, and steadily slid it onto the desk before her. Connor was about to question what was on it, when Hyram held up a hand. “Aubrey needs to see this first.”

“The hell did you just hand me, and what’s with the drama?” She moved the paper within view of her light, giving him brief eye contact before he urged her to read the paper. She licked her lips and began to read over the lines, soon starting to get a sense of dread as she got farther down the paper. A swelling pain had hit her in the chest when she reached the midpoint of it, and by now she didn’t even want to keep reading. It was a suicide note that Sean Prescott had written, detailing the reasons behind his actions. Although that was troubling enough as is, since she didn’t want the guy to be killed or anything, it was the events leading to his suicide that got her tripped up. Her worst fears were confirmed on a single piece of loose leaf paper, as she found the description of a girl along with the murdered Nathan Prescott, both presumed victims of Mark Jefferson. That girl was, in Sean’s own words, Rachel Amber. She was the only real friend Aubrey had made in Arcadia Bay. This girl had made the world so much more cheerful for her, having saved her from intense bullying and reminded Aubrey that life didn’t always suck. In 2013, she had seemingly vanished into thin air after all the talk of international studies and fashion design. She had an amazing life planned out for her, and then she was gone just like that, without a trace. Until now.

The truth was that, according to the suicide note, Sean learned that Nathan Prescott had helped kidnap and kill her. This, along with all the info that the police had apparently gathered from Jefferson before he died in the storm, led to Sean’s suicide. The note literally described his son’s account the overdose, the other victims, and how many pictures of the abducted Rachel had been discovered. There had to be so much context missing from this letter, so much that deserved to be known. Rachel had been drugged, possibly raped, and then killed by injection. Just reading those lines forced an uncontrollable twitch from every part of Aubrey’s person. She couldn’t even hold the paper straight by now, losing her cool all at once.

Arcadia Bay Police had already gathered enough information to make a formal arrest on the guy, but then the storm hit. The fact that everyone was dead and gone did not change her broken heart, and she soon found her face buried in her hands on the desk. The sobbing that ensued was not pretty, her trembling moan loud enough to warrant two pairs of arms to wrap around her. Part of the girl had wished that her two friends weren’t around to see it, to preserve her image as a badass in training. She had kept in touch with Rachel through the internet, and while Rachel had other friends, much closer friends, she still held such a high reverence in Aubrey’s heart. To think that something so vile and nasty happened to someone so pure and amazing was a terrible curse.

She had cried and cried until she couldn’t anymore. Her throat was numb, her voice so sore that she couldn’t speak. The tears that rolled down her cheeks were just part of the process, her feeling having left the building midway through the breakdown. The arms that were squeezing her tight hadn’t let go at any point. While appreciated, she needed to have some space and once they released her, she stood up from the desk and, without explanation, made a break for the open air.

“Where are you going?” Connor asked her, worrying.

“Outside,” she remarked, sniffling too hard to care. She did not look back upon them, no longer feeling capable of it. “To wait on our contact.”

“You sure you wanna be alone?” Hyram offered, receiving a nod of confirmation from her in return.

“Yep. Want to be alone. See you topside.” She stepped over the split door, ascended the steps and inhaled the fresh, pacific northwestern air. Now that she was away from that horrible suicide note, she could just lean against the partial wall and close her eyes. Aubrey practiced unclenching her jaw, dropping her shoulder, and taking deep, deep breaths. These feelings would pass with time, as all pain did. Running her hands along the edge of her shoulders and neck, she let out an aggrieved whine. Things could be worse, and her little crisis weighed against the fate of the wonderful Rachel was nothing in comparison.

“You look you could do with a cigarette, my dear. Want me to butt you?”

Aubrey opened her eyes to see the moustached man wearing a raincoat, his British accent thick. In his right hand was a gun, and while it had yet to be pointed at her, it was drawn. “You know, I can’t help but feel like you’re in danger.”

She pressed herself against the wall, and when her eyes darted for the open side of the house the female private eye emerged with her own gun drawn. She was far more unscrupulous with her gun play, immediately putting her sights on the alarmed girl without remorse. They had fallen into a trap, hook line and sinker. Even half-expecting such a turnabout, she had let her emotions get the better of her and now she was screwed.

“Oh please, we didn’t agree on the ‘good-cop bad-cop’ routine. There’s no need for that. She’s just a kid.” Mr. Dannel extended his unarmed hand to his partner, giving Aubrey nothing but fright, initially thinking he had reached for her. He withdrew it immediately, puzzled at her reaction.

“Not taking a chance after Veracruz,” the woman named Barry, replied to the second detective.

The man, who had never moved his gaze from Aubrey, returned his gun to his holster, placing the strap back over its butt. “Miss Snyders, you look like you’ve received word of a death in the family. Are you alright?”

“ _Death in the family_ , seriously?” The woman, who Aubrey could now see was a blonde with far shorter hair, inched closer to her with the weapon aimed. Mr. Dannel had somehow offended her, as she shook her head and returned her concentration to the editor. “Your name’s Aubrey, right? Get your friends up here. Promptly.”

_What the hell do I do now? They wouldn’t shoot me if I just ran, would they? If they’re really PI’s, or detectives… but what if this goes farther than that? The government agency jokes were just supposed to be jokes. Could they operate with impunity? They know that Connor and Hyram are in the hole, they’d have nowhere to run._

_“_ I said promptly,” Ashton shouted, firing her handgun at the ground. Aubrey nearly jolted out of her skin, flattening herself even more up against the wall until the rough plastic started digging into her skin through the t-shirt. The pain was nothing compared to the world of hurt they were going to deal with soon, unless there was a way out. Sadly though, Aubrey wasn’t quick on her feet. If she tried to make a break for it, the woman had demonstrated she was clearly willing to shoot.

“Aubrey, you okay?” shouted the distraught Hyram from the hole below. The editor wanted to warn him, to tell him to stay where he was but she couldn’t speak with the gun still directed at her. The feeling of a killing machine ready to fire paralyzed her, and she was at a loss for words. As for Hyram, she knew how reckless he would be if he knew the danger she was in. He needed to be far away from this, or else he would get shot.

“She won’t be unless you get the fuck up here,” Ashton commanded. “And bring all the documents you found on Prescott.”

“I admire your tenacity, but you’re being very callous about this,” Mr. Dannel’s contorted face revealed that he was frustrated with his partner. It wasn’t clear if they had worked together for a long time, but he was obviously accustomed to dealing with her behavior. Seeing him act sympathetic to someone who had amounted to a psychopath thus far was off-putting. “Veracruz was different, these are just three college-aged kids. You should relax.”

“Yeah, it was ‘just a kid’ in Veracruz, too.” Ashton’s eyes had moved from Aubrey to burning a hole into the other detective. _What happened in Veracruz to make you so nuts?_ If the blonde detective could bear fangs, they would be ready to strike. “I’m fulfilling what’s required of me. If you want to play nice, you do it. Nobody said I had to be nice.”

“We’re coming out, please do not shoot,” signaled the cameraman from below in the dugout. They had finally been caught, but there was something that might get them out of this: cornered animals were often known for their ferocity. While the ad-hoc plan came to fruition, she had to take care that the captors did not notice the hopeful twitch on her face. With Connor’s newly emboldened abilities, they were offered a way out. She couldn’t just tell him to do it, but there had to be some kind of display he could pull off to scare these guys. It was a gamble, as she didn’t want Connor to be filled with holes either.

“We’re waiting,” Ashton placed her hand on her hip and let the gun wave around without regard. Whoever thought this woman was fit to carry a firearm needed to be thrown in prison, probably in a cell with her. Yet this woman didn’t scare her the most. Rather, the moustached man was the one who truly disturbed Aubrey. Whereas Ashton let her know where they stood, Mr. Dannel came off as a schemer, as if he was hiding his true intentions. When both of Aubrey’s friends came into view with the ton of paper work in their hands, the woman’s gun rose back to chest level; not aiming at _them_ , but at the scared editor. She could see the reflection of the emergent sun in the clouds along the barrel. This was the second time in twenty-four hours she had been threatened with a firearm, both times entirely illegal. _Oh yes, because there’s such thing as a legal shooting. The unlawful killing of three teenagers. Sure helps in the moment._ She would gladly give up all the files they had just found, but she knew it wouldn’t stop at that. They were going to take them in to custody, whatever their definition of custody meant. Aubrey couldn’t see it going any other way.

“I will warn you, though,” the voice of the brown-haired boy seemed to caution them, as he walked up the steps and moved towards the detectives with a bunch of envelopes. “If you don’t let us go, I’ll be forced to use my powers on you.”

 _The fuck, Connor?_ Even in the heat of the moment, Aubrey wanted to cringe at that. It got the point across though, surely. _Let them call a bluff, strike the house or some shit. Then we can bolt._ However, both of the detectives locked eyes on each other, and then eventually they turned their attention on her superpowered friend. The woman named Ashton shifted the gun over from Aubrey to Connor, freezing him in his tracks. Aubrey watched the color drain from boy’s face the longer he stood on the edge of the steps.

“You think you’re the first one with a gift, huh?” she revealed a humorless smirk, deflating any confidence the blonde had had in Connor’s sudden burst of valor. “Wow. This must come as a shock for you, but I’ve dealt with them before.”

“All I wanted to do was introduce us and ask for cooperation,” Mr. Dannel rubbed his face furiously, in an overemphasis of vexation. “But it seems I can’t temper my colleague here. Yet, the fact remains. We’ve been threatened by far scarier individuals and collectives than the likes of you.”

“First one?” Connor muttered in disbelief, dropping the envelopes to the ground. They were treading into some serious shit, with Aubrey now doubting that they were just simple detectives.

“Oh for fuck sake. Pick up the fucking envelopes and bring them to us or I’m going to hurt one of you!” screamed the horrendous Ashton, once again bearing those metaphorical fangs. Aubrey was starting to believe she likely had some buried in the back of her mouth.

“While my colleague is a woman of her word, she may be exaggerating a touch,” Mr. Dannel insisted, though he had yet to bring back his own firearm upon any of them. “To be candid, all we’re going to do is take the documents, ask some questions, and then go our own way. That was always our intention.” _Bullshit you are._ The brunet boy picked up the envelopes he had dropped, brushing the dirt off of them. They were now stained from the moisture on the ground, causing the woman’s ire to once again be directed in his general direction. The handgun was now pointed at his head from only a yard or two away, and Aubrey found her fists clenched so tight that she was sure she was about to break one of her thumbs. _Jesus woman! You’ve already got us right where you want us._

“We all know that’s not how this is going to happen,” Connor, now accompanying a very stressed Hyram, came within several feet of the detectives with all the paperwork they had requested. His indignant stare must have annoyed Ashton, as she stared straight back at him. “Nobody just walks away from this.” The cameraman had remained tense and reserved, and Aubrey noted he was looking for an opening to take control of the situation. Any moves they made would result in a gunshot, and ultimately death. These people would not be shooting to maim. _Please don’t do something stupid, Hyram._

“People who are smart will do as they’re told and get to leave without a scratch,” the woman was so much worse than anticipated, even earning an admonishing sigh from her partner. Her threats were taken very seriously by the approaching boys, as Mr. Dannel took the documents from each of them and set it on a nearby tree stump. He almost took inventory as he let the papers rest, running his thumb between each piece. _If they were this awful to us, then what had happened to others they had crossed paths with?_ Aubrey’s gut dropped at the fond memory of Rebekah Leonardson, and just imagining how this woman could have treated her fueled a sudden rage that could not be contained.

“Where’s Miss Leonardson?” Aubrey had meant to ask, but it came off as a roaring yell. Ashton’s gun returned to aiming at her head, giving Aubrey enough reminder that this woman would kill her in an instant given the excuse.

“We thought she had Alzheimers, since you weren’t in the house with her. Poor woman. Had no one left in her life to even write a will for. You three should have stuck around, might gotten something out of it,” Mr. Dannel casually said, but upon realizing the look on Aubrey’s face was one of scorn, he backtracked. “Oh, you mean… No, we didn’t kill her. She’s fine. What kind of monsters do you think we are?”

“Monster enough to chase after three kids who are scared shitless,” Aubrey mouthed off.

“Chase? My dear, the title is ‘private investigator’. And as far as I can see, we’re doing you a favor. We’re going to capture Hugh Olhouser, return your car to you, and send you on your merry way.” His words said one thing, yet their actions suggested quite another. They were not going to simply let them go, not after this messy exchange. As Mr. Dannel opened his mouth to speak further, something caught his attention near the front of property. He rubbernecked almost instantly, placing his hand on the holster hugging his waist. “Am I hearing metal?”

As everybody quieted at the mention, Aubrey tuned in and heard music, feint and approaching. From the distance it had started from, one would think they should have heard the music coming a mile away. This had been sudden and abrupt, almost like it had just been turned on. She drew the only conclusion she could; that this place was about to get ten times more dangerous than she thought possible.

The song was one that Connor played frequently, blasting heavy bass and the lead singer’s loud vocals barely audible above the music. The urban explorer caught on to the unfolding situation, as did the other, and despite the realization, they could do nothing about it until the beige SUV came close enough to draw attention off of them. The implication that a certain someone driving her car was about to breeze in with a gun of his own was not quite as comforting as Mr. Wright or Ms. Barry. If they made a run for it, there was still a chance they could get caught in the crossfire between two crazy detectives and an unhinged lunatic shooter. If they stayed put, a serious harm was waiting, but even Aubrey felt safer with the detectives than she would with Olhouser.

Mr. Dannel had pulled the strap off of his holster and clutched his handgun by this time. He hugged the leftover wall of the Prescott Estate, gripping the gun tightly. The music grew louder, this time verily close to the front of the destroyed home. “Twelve o’clock,” he said out of sight.

“Don’t move, or you’ll never walk again.” Giving the group a critical glare, she pulled her sights off of them and ran along the other side opposite to Mr. Dannel. Having her car so close, yet so out of reach was nerve-wracking. She noticed Hyram’s flabbergasted look around the area, knowing that he had the same idea of bolting the instant they could. Being the farthest out of harm’s way, he would be the guide to getting them out of this mess alive. The question lingered, however, on whether they should try to take back some of the documents that were just stolen from them. To Aubrey, it wasn’t that much of a necessity, yet she figured that Connor might disagree with her. At this point, she didn’t have the power to stop either of them from yanking them off of the tree stump where they resided. So once they heard the first shot, they scrambled at top speed into the line of pines. Just off to her left, she could see her ugly old car and the disgusting man who had driven it, wearing suspenders and a raincoat. Just peering over the cabin roof with his shotgun, she realized the imminent danger her vehicle was in and, for a split second, nearly stopped dead in her tracks. If the fiendish detectives riddled it with bullets, she might just overcome the fear and give them a piece of her mind.

Just as she had prayed for, Connor had abandoned any desire to retrieve the docs and sprinted past her. It wouldn’t have terrified her so much if Hyram hadn’t also surpassed her in speed. She was now the last person in the race, never once turning to stare back at the unfolding fight. Being the slowest in the group had a strangely motivating feel to it, as she grew quicker and quicker with each stride. Any tension in her muscles had rightly been popped, and eventually they broke the treeline and emerged back onto the road outside of the Prescott Estate. The first thing in her line of sight was the black sedan, parked off to the right of the road behind some trees as they had seen the first time on the highway.

However, as she slid to a halt in the center of the road she heard screeching breaks. Bracing for the impact, instead she saw the hood of a faded brown truck come within inches of killing her. Aubrey peered up at the occupants of the vehicle, spotting first a bobble head doll that must have been glued to the dashboard, and a bewildered brunette girl with wide eyes clutching onto the arm of the seemingly freaked out driver. Without reluctance, Aubrey slammed her fists on the hood of the truck with an unfiltered rage at how unfair the day had been. The driver, an oddly violet-haired punk with a complementary skullcap revealed disdain for such action over their truck. _Who fucking cares, this thing’s a piece of crap anyway!_ Regardless, she kept peering at the two inside of the truck and after a moment of recollection, it registered that she had seen these girls before. Where they had met was right here in Arcadia Bay, and then the editor realized that she was seeing a blast from the past. The driver must have been “Miss Blue”, although she wasn’t quite that blue but rather rocking purple. What a time for _her_ to show up, after the conversation with Miss Leonardson of all days. _Of course, how couldn’t I have put that together?_

“Chloe Price?” Aubrey yelled, seeing the wide-eyed passenger calm herself and say something inaudible to the punk driver. She hadn’t seen a picture of Chloe for a long time. The Price girl had disappeared off the internet after the storm, and Aubrey presumed she and the other girl did not want to be found.

“Yeah, that’s me.” Chloe called back in return, before regarding the two boys who had emerged from the forest next to her. Any questions or concerns were waylaid by her next order. “Jump in the bed already! We’re getting out of here!”

Without further lollygagging, the trio hopped into the less than clean truck bed and Chloe Price shifted gears, speeding away from the Prescott Estate. The odious state of the truck bed indicated that Chloe obviously had no use for it, and Aubrey tried her hardest to simply ignore the smell. Now that she had time to examine the second occupant of the truck, she opened the window slider. The driver leaned back as if to listen to what she was going to say, but the passenger also devoted her attention to Aubrey. The exhausted appearance and wary eyes gave her the look that Connor had shared right before he blew open the storm shelter door. The fair-skinned, freckled brunette had her hair shortened and pulled off some pleasant bangs. It didn’t take long for her to recall Chloe’s best friend from the years before they had lost contact.

“Maxine?” Aubrey smiled, so happy to see them again. “You just saved our lives.”

“I’ve been told I have a habit of doing that,” Maxine replied, her fingers running along the sides of her face. “Just call me Max. Not even my parents do Maxine anymore.” The driver extended out her right arm, comforting the passenger on the back of her neck with a thorough rub. She felt distracted by the minor act of affection, observing the way Chloe’s fingers massaged the tired girl’s neck. Aubrey hadn’t expected their friendship to have gotten that close from how sensual it appeared, but what did she know about the duo? It had been years.

“So, you’re the ones who sent that weird email?” Hyram asked, perched upon the outline of one of the back wheels. “Could’ve been a lot less creepy? At least got here fifteen minutes quicker.”

“You’re welcome, asshole,” the driver derisively said.

“What are you here for?” Connor, who had taken a seat beside Aubrey, perked up to ask. Max’s disposition hardened at his interrogative, but it was almost like she had met him before as well. When Aubrey gave the two of them an inviting glance to keep talking, his concern was addressed.

“There’s no time to explain right now. When we get somewhere safe, I can talk about all of it.”

“You wouldn’t believe it even if we told you,” Chloe stated. “Sometimes I still don’t.” As if some stroke of fate had brought them together, the party of five raced out of Arcadia Bay as the sun began its journey towards the other side of the horizon. She didn’t have the energy to catch up or even tell them what had been going on.

“After today, I’ll believe anything,” Aubrey piped, her burning desire for answers obscured by the sudden drowsiness. She had been through a lot in the past few hours.

“You two used to live here?” Hyram further asked, when Chloe made a sound of disgust.

“I’m trying hard not to think about it,” she told him, despite the unsatisfied gaze he made to Max that then wandered around the rest of them in the truck bed. Aubrey couldn’t read Hyram’s mind, much to her own dislike, but she had a good idea as to what he was trying to do. _The poor boy, she hurt his feelings by calling him an asshole. Boo hoo._

“So, Aubrey. You don’t seemed so surprised that they’re alive,” he remarked to the blonde sprawled out on the bed floor. She sure didn’t, but it was time to come clean since they all had something to hide.

“I knew they were alive. The internet’s a big place,” she revealed, without watching the way that the boys’ expressions turned upon her as if she had been duplicitous. “They didn’t need to be exposed. They’ve been through enough. Especially if you’re saving damsels in distress now, Max. Thought you wanted to be a pirate.” With so many more questions than answers by now, Aubrey just closed her eyes and tried to sleep it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 7/9/18
> 
> Yup, Max and Chloe have joined the cast.


	9. Enshrouding the Party

**Chapter 9: Enshrouding the Party**

 

 _Who would have guessed that we’d be scooped out of harm’s way by two strangers?_ thought Connor, still studious of the truck’s owner and passenger. There wasn’t much that Connor could say that would have been relevant. A thank you would probably work, or he could bombard the two heroines with questions that might be hard to answer. The sight before him, he hoped, would tell him more about their saviors than anything he could ask about at the moment. Aubrey had passed out next to him, and Hyram appeared content on watching the mountainous surroundings rather than talk. That left the narrator to absorb all the details about the girls, keen on getting a feel for who he was now with.

He had picked up immediately that Chloe was an alternative kind of girl, but he didn’t see any piercings yet. It was barely visible, yet the crimson tattoo that ran down the driver’s right arm didn’t quite fill in as much as a sleeve would. Rather, the art itself was a thin ribbon wrapping around a detailed system of plant roots. Intertwined with the red ribbon were dark green leaves, which had to lead to rose petals unseen under her jacket. He had no real reason for the assumption; he just thought roses would be an appropriate addition. He also picked out blue butterflies, an odd stylistic choice but one that he could get behind. Connor could only presume the greater tattoo was something gorgeous, and perhaps he would get a moment to see it once they made it to the hotel. As for the rest of her, Chloe certainly fit the “was scene in high school but eventually evolved” phase. From there, he noticed the numerous wristbands adorning the woman’s dominant arm, swearing that at least one of those looked like the remnants of a gig admission. She appeared zoned out, an elbow balanced against the door with her hand on her face. With the other hand, she gripped the steering wheel effortlessly. While she had not turned on her tunes, he suspected that their music tastes might have been aligned. Connor was always eager to recruit one more headbanger to his group.

 _Might be too soon to think about the word “group”, don’tcha think ol’ buddy ol’ pal?_ They certainly had no reason to call Connor or Hyram friends, yet. He knew virtually nothing about them, other than the tiny snippet of information provided by Aubrey—who was temporarily out of commission, as she recuperated on the truck bed from the hard day. Especially back at the storm shelter, he had never seen her cry that hard. Not even over her family. Although he had a gist of what was in the letter Hyram had handed her, he had not gotten to read it. Now, the odds of that were little to none.

The detectives seemed to have all the answers, and asking them about things now off the table. They knew about his powers, the way they talked about more powerful individuals, the implication of run-ins with people worse than some clueless kid with abilities. Had they been attracted by his latest lightning strike, or were they going to the Prescott home all along? Could they have been laying in wait, just out of sight? Something was mentioned about Veracruz, a big city down in Mexico. He wanted to remember that when he had a moment to do some digging. They weren’t dealing with some lowly precinct desk detectives or private eyes, they were dealing with something much more clandestine and dangerous.

He gazed away from the violet punk to her cohort, Max, who was watching the road ahead of them. Being much more of a conventionally attractive short brunette, Max’s plainer appearance struck him as an interesting quirk to the duo. For no particular reason at all, he pictured them as a modern day Bonnie and Clyde. _Or maybe, Clydette. Which one would be Clydette? I can’t decide._ Eventually, he observed her fiddling with an old camera that sat at her feet. _Nobody else uses Polaroids in this day and age_. If she carried that thing around, she was obviously a photographer. That wasn’t what the first thought that came to mind, though. The big thing that seemed out of the ordinary for Max was how tired she was. Perhaps this was just another example of his overanalysis, but he could tell from peering through the slider that she was _really_ exhausted. Whenever she spoke, it sounded like she forced back a croak or groan. It was also the slouched shoulders and head tilted towards the window that gave him such an impression. Even seeing her from his angle in the truck bed, the wear on her face was apparent. He had a good idea that these two had some stories to tell. They wore it on them like masks, it was slapped across their faces; Chloe and Max have been on a journey of their own.

All on their own, they had come out of nowhere and given the trio a way out. It was a saddening realization for him, that his powers weren’t that useful outside of destruction. The only way he had rescued his friends was by inadvertently blowing up a car. He hadn’t even meant to do that, let alone throw a lightning bolt. _Amazing, I can blow up shit. How does that help the world? Do I head over to Burkina Faso and give them electricity?_ What meaningful thing could he do with such power? Even on their own, Max and Chloe seemed to pull off the impossible without any special abilities. Connor had finally been given a gift to do miracles with, and yet even good Samaritans were more handy than he was.

Unexpectedly, the brunette slowly angled her head to look back at Connor. Her blue eyes told him she was about to speak again, about the next course of action they were trying to piece together. It was the only topic that made sense to bring up, they were almost to the town. _What was it called, Doppler? A town called Doppler?_ The girls and his friends came to the conclusion that they might as well stay in the hotel that Connor and company intended on visiting. They never made reservations, meaning their names and info weren’t on record at the place. That gave them some flexibility on incorporating their hideaway into it. They still had to take care of not to be seen, since Arcadia Bay was only a half hour’s drive away. With the detectives potentially on their tail, anything that left a trace had to be dealt with. He could breathe a sigh of relief knowing that they hadn’t spotted Chloe’s beat up truck, and had no idea that the two girls were harboring them. The reason why they were, was also something he hadn’t been able to get out of them yet.

“Everyone here twenty-one?” Max asked to the half-asleep Aubrey slowly, and he was sure the brunette could see the tear in the editor’s shirt now too. On the floor of the truck bed, Aubrey groggily moved her lips and stretched before getting a reply out.

“Yeah,” she said. “For the booking?”

“Good. You’ll need to book yours. Chloe’s got ours covered.” Max stated, reminding Connor of something he hadn’t heard in quite a long time. In order to get a room at most hotels, one had to be twenty-one years of age with a valid driver’s license. With him being twenty, Hyram only nineteen and Aubrey essentially the group grandma at twenty-two, it was always a clear choice in that department. He did not know the ages of the other two, but he now understood that Chloe was the older counterpart.

“What’s your take on that?” Hyram asked, digging for more from the girl. “If there’s a booking, I’m guessing that also means like a guestbook. We’d be on record.” It was definitely a worry, as Max looked briefly towards Chloe and then back to them. Connor found his own gaze wandering around, seeing Hyram’s uncharacteristically reserved mug. It was possible he had finally felt the gravity of the situation sink in, how they had come so close to death numerous times in the last few days. The netophile had been the one to knock Olhouser on his ass during first contact, so he’d experienced his share of the danger. Aubrey certainly felt it early in the trip. With everything going on, coupled with Olhouser and the fighting with Jack, she was taking all of the abuse well. As well as she could, judging from how she hadn’t piped up about it.

_There’s an idea_ , he considered as Hyram and Max left their concern floating in the air. He had hatched an idea to get them through booking without a hitch, though Aubrey might hold it against him. “I’ve got a way we can do it,” he mused. Max looked to him for answers, and even Chloe looked like she had started paying attention despite being at the wheel. “How well can you guys act?”

It turned out that while Aubrey and Max required some work on their acting, Chloe was a natural thespian. He sat in the lobby of their hotel, facing his dreadlocked friend from across the room. As of fifteen minutes ago in the parking lot, his dreads were wrapped up with some rubber bands hidden behind Chloe’s skull cap. The flannel he had been wearing since the start of their journey was now tucked away in the glove box of the truck; instead wearing a red long-sleeve shirt Chloe had brought along with her. It only worked because the jokester was so tall and thin, though a little larger than Chloe. Hyram wasn’t particularly comfortable as he adjusted to the disguise, listening in to the play that the three girls had started at the front desk. Once he had adjusted to the disguise, Max snapped a photo on her old Polaroid. Upon viewing it, Hyram had said something so expectedly “Hyram”, that Chloe decided to incorporate the remark into his new name. Like the disguise itself, the boy wasn’t feeling it. To be fair, the whole group had not been feeling it. They were still on the run from people who wanted to hurt them. Like it or not, that would always loom over any cute moment they shared.

Connor’s own cloak wasn’t nearly that bad, having dropped cash on a camo baseball cap and sunglasses that looked rather dumb when worn indoors. He switched out his red jacket with Chloe’s worn out leather, although he had a hunch that she had wanted to try his on the instant she laid eyes upon it. To his own disappointment, his jacket fit her like a set piece; that is to say, her taller build allowed it to fill out better. Wearing her jacket, on the other hand, Connor didn’t feel as elegant nor as comfortable. W _hy is the discrepancy between men’s and women’s clothing this bad?_

Then there was Aubrey. Of all the people who needed to be disguised the most, it was the girl with the torn shirt and beach blonde hair. Yet she stood across the hall at the desk, with just a hoodie and now-blue hair. At this rate, Max and Chloe might as well have stripped from how much clothing they had given up.

“You poor thing,” the older lady at the reception desk fretted. “I’m glad you brought this to my attention.” Connor couldn’t help but smile at how well this was proceeding. Chloe had just pulled the predetermined mugshot off of an arrest site from Florida to show to the staff member. He heard the crocodile tears that Max cried. As sincere as they might sound, it was hilarious. He had come up with this on the spot and they were selling it like snake-oil salesmen.

“Please don’t cry, Max. It’s over now.” Chloe comforted the photographer. “Brett won’t touch you again. We promise.” As to why Max chose the name Brett, he truly had no idea. Channeling something from memory wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities for somebody in this situation. He hoped whoever this Brett was, if real, had a shitty time.

“Thank you so much,” Aubrey said, pretending to help temper the crying Max. “We didn’t think anyone would understand. It’s been such a long day for us.” She wasn’t lying there.

“Absolutely. I’ll be sure to prep the hotel staff to be on the look out for him. If he so much as comes through the front doors, we’re calling the police.” The lady who Connor had figured to be the shift manager had eaten it up. He concocted the story that they were trying to keep Max away from an abusive lover, hiding her as he was hunting through the countryside to get her back. He wasn’t sure how well it would have worked, with such a shaky foundation they were working with to start. It was a mugshot, not one pulled straight out of Max’s gallery. It might have been easier to just use someone random from their contacts, but that wouldn’t have sat right with him. None of that had been a problem, because they pulled it off splendidly. It went so smoothly that he felt guilty about lying to the person behind the desk, who was so convinced.

“Alex,” called Chloe to Hyram, who’s nonplussed reaction earned him a nonverbal lecture from Connor. “Could you please come over here, real quick? You too, John.” He rose to his seat and adjusted the tight shirt before he waited for Connor to join him in standing. Once up, they reunited with the three actresses who had caused quite the waterworks from the receptionist. It had only taken about a moment longer, the woman merely wishing to see who they were giving shelter to before accepting cash upfront. She had assumed that the two boys were there as backup and protection. If only she knew it was quite the contrary.

They had paid for two rooms, for three days. The reasoning was that in case something went wrong, they would at least have an extra day of preparation with the third. Everyone except for Max seemed supportive of this, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. He had noticed since they arrived that the photographer seemed to keep to herself, especially concerning opinions. Whereas Chloe wished to make an impression, Max seemed to be invisible some moments. In the lobby though, she had been the front and center protagonist.

Once they were given their room keys and had the hotel layout explained, they set off with their extremely light luggage to find their rooms. Connor was shocked at the amenities such a backwater place had to offer. Across the street was a shopping center, but the kind you’d expect right off the highway in a rural town: a strip mall with half of its lots abandoned. There was a nice coffee shop over there, and Connor knew where he’d be in the morning. Towards the parking lot was a dive bar, with enough room to watch the games, play pool, poker, and darts. It was a separate building, but he imagined that it was good for business. His face must have soured at the thought of how expensive the beverages must have been, because Chloe returned the same soured expression. _Shit, hope she doesn’t think that was directed at her._ Of other things to note, Connor couldn’t believe how different she appeared without her leather jacket and beanie. Now wearing his red jacket that stretched below her belt line, torn jeans and heavy boots, Chloe had dawned an entirely new persona of “punk”.

“So, we’re down in name only,” she spoke, a look of arrogance washing over her. “Gotta say Max, I almost believed you really were upset. I started getting worried.” Max shot her an insincere starry-eyed gaze that ended with the taller girl bumping their hips together. That wasn’t a mannerism Connor had seen very often.

“I’m pretty sure half of the hotel heard you guys,” Hyram said, his eyes primarily on his phone screen. “You’d have me convinced.”

“I learned from the best,” Max eventually spoke up, a smile of her own finally emerging. “Chloe always was a drama queen.”

“You know it,” Chloe confirmed, creating finger guns while slinging her backpack higher up on her back. “This has all been for you so far,” she gestured towards the photographer, “so don’t be an ungrateful princess.”

“Was it, though?” Max stared up to Chloe, with a questionable, mischievous expression set on her. Connor kind of understood the joke they were having, but he almost thought that they were flirting.

“I’m gonna vom,” Aubrey whispered. This didn’t stop the two girls in front of her, as the punk finally wrapped her arm around the photographer’s shoulders and kissed her on the forehead. It was at that moment that Connor realized he had _seriously_ misunderstood the kind of relationship that Max and Chloe had. They weren’t simply best friends, not with this kind of chemistry. It had been unexpected but at the same time, opposites often attract. The renegade with charisma that could run anyone out of town fit with the unassuming, shy photographer like a pillow did with a pillow case.

Upon the realization that the two were girlfriends in a literal sense of the word, he wondered which emotion Hyram had felt as he saw them kiss. Was he bummed out, or if he would pay closer attention? If Chloe was perceptive at all, she would figure out what Hyram’s taste in women was like soon enough. He wasn’t one to be a creep who leered at girls but they were still new acquaintances and Connor had to hope he knew better than to say anything that could be misconstrued. _The guy’s bi. Surely, he’s had some weirdo hit on him. I hope he would understand how women feel in awkward situations._

“Here we are,” Aubrey announced, stopping at two rooms that were side by side. “Ours is to the left, yours is to the right.” She tossed the second room key, a flimsy piece of plastic, towards the reflexive Chloe. “So, whats next?”

“How about we order some pizza, and meet up in an hour?” Max suggested, with her taller girlfriend’s arm resting on her shoulder. “I’m really craving pepperoni.”

“We can split it,” Connor said. “I’d like some extra cheese.” This was apparently not enough, as Hyram’s pizza request was unknowingly cut off by the violet-haired Chloe.

“Just order two pizzas, or else you guys won’t have anything to eat.” The jokester regarded her incredulously, signaling that she had beat him to the very line he had wanted to say. It was great to see that someone at least beating him to his own thoughts, but if they started finishing each other’s sentences Connor might have to fret.

“Two pizzas, sounds good to me,” Aubrey said, as her phone pinged in her pocket. “Oh, now I’m popular.” _Oh right, we’ll finally have some damn WiFi! I can’t wait._

“But seriously,” Chloe began, “I need some alone time with Max for a bit. It’s been a little hectic getting here. Might need to medicate.” Although she didn’t offer any subtlety to her confession, it still took Connor an unreasonable amount of silence before he caught her meaning. Hyram, who had seen his blank expression the whole time, gave Connor a pat of contempt on his shoulders.

“I haven’t smoked in years,” Hyram said.

“Could have fooled me,” Chloe leaned against the door, her carriage becoming more rushed than before. “Anyway, I’m ducking out. Max, come find me.”

“I’ll be there asap. Promise,” Max once again smiled at her girlfriend before Chloe nodded and entered the room. The photographer turned around and pulled out her own phone. She had to adjust the camera strap she wore in order to reach into her pocket. The more Connor studied her, the less he felt like he knew about the girl. The way she had a near-mood shift the instant that Chloe walked into the room was so severe that he almost thought she wanted to be away from her for a while. “So, when we get to pizza, we’ll talk about everything that’s going on. Is that okay with you three?”

“Fine by me,” Aubrey sighed, running a hand through her hair as she furiously texted with her thumb. “Hopefully he won’t be up my ass by then.” Jack. She was probably taking advantage of the hotel WiFi to finally text her man-child. Connor hoped that worked out, for her own happiness. If not, then Operation _Douche-Punch_ would be in effect.

“Not gonna lie, that pot roast feels like forever ago.” Hyram remarked, adjusting the tightly-fitting shirt once again. “I never thanked your girl for the getup.” O _h, you’re thankful now?_

“You didn’t sound like you liked it,” Max replied honestly.

“The part about my name being _Alex Jones,_ ” he sharply retorted. “The last name on the fucking planet that I want to be called.”

“That’ll teach you,” Aubrey shot back, referencing one of his dumb comments that Chloe had decided he was not allowed to forget. “But she didn’t stop with you. You even heard our names?”

“Marry Jane,” Max addressed her. “I tried to stop her, but when Chloe gets an idea, its hard to shake her from it.”

“Don’t forget John Smith over here,” Marry pointed to Connor with an eagerness in her voice. “Christ. Let’s hope Dannel and Barry are just as dumb as Sean Prescott.” Out of all the names that should have given Max pause, it was Sean Prescott that got her deathly quiet. They hadn’t explained what went down at the Prescott Estate, but the Prescott name bothered Max in some way that she hadn’t yet revealed. Her actions were quick and uncoordinated; her fingers tapdanced across her phone screen and her legs continually shifted. She was nervous as hell, out of nowhere. Not wanting the mood to further sour, Connor decided it wouldn’t hurt to just ask her what was up.

“Hey,” he tried getting her attention and, with little effort, her fervent gaze snapped to his. “Everything alright?” Taking a deep breath and clutching her phone—which she hadn’t actually checked since pulling it out of her pocket—Max nodded and rubbed her eyes.

“Yeah. I’ll get on ordering our pizzas. When they show up, I’ll text you,” she concluded, slowly turning to enter the room where Chloe awaited.

“Wait,” Aubrey stopped her. “Can’t text without having your number, can we?” Connor couldn’t peg the reason why Max had a such a profound mood shift. She had been chipper enough, although she was still tired and shy. She apologized and exchanged numbers with Aubrey, her reservation growing with each passing second. What could have changed in the past few minutes to bring about her new attitude? Figuring Max out would have to wait, as she waved goodbye and disappeared behind her own door.

“Anyone notice how she got really worked up when you name dropped Prescott?” Connor asked to the other two in the hallway, genuinely interested in getting to know the new acquaintances. “That was a retreat.”

“She did grab her phone,” Aubrey said, her hands on her hips. “Maybe Chloe texted her and really needed her alone for something.”

“Just worried about her. I haven’t known her long, but that switch up just caught me off guard.” She seemed to give Connor’s words consideration, as her head fell to one side in thought. He couldn’t have been the only one to notice. At least, he didn’t want to be the only one to always pick up on stuff.

“I noticed it too,” Hyram said. “Maybe it has to do with the fact that they haven’t told us anything yet.”

“I thought it wasn’t the right time to ask anything,” Connor assured him. “They’d just grabbed us out of a firefight. I was grateful enough.”

“But they know things. As usual, more than we do,” he stated brazenly. “I’m not saying they’re gonna hurt us or anything. I’m just tired of us being in the dark.”

“Lotta talk coming from the skeptic,” Aubrey reminded him, as she slid the key card into their door. “Oh, how ironic your new name is.”

They were both right to remain hesitant to blindly following Max and Chloe. They had clearly come to help, but to what end? He wanted to believe there was a reasonable explanation for it all, but everyone who had showed up to the Prescott Estate had had their own agenda. He was, by no means, afraid. Max and Chloe had saved their lives for sure. He just had no idea what kind of big reveal to brace for when it finally came out. Max had alluded briefly to “something she was working on” before they had arrived to the hotel, but nothing since had come of it. Whatever it was, it would have to come up soon.

When the pizza arrived, the town meeting had commenced in Chloe’s room. Once again, they had to pay in cash to avoid leaving a record. Luckily, that meant Aubrey could tip the delivery woman a fair, untaxed handful of cash. _Oh yeah, Aubrey’s a_ Libertarian _. Taxation is theft, right?_ Busting open the two pizza boxes, the buffet ensued. Connor and Chloe readily started to devour the cheese pizza, enjoying every greasy, saucy slice. Using the box itself as a plate wasn’t the greatest, but they were pooling a budget of maybe three to four hundred dollars. The luxurious paper plates and plastic sporks would have to wait for another day.

Naturally, everyone was in on the pizza. No matter where they sat in the room, whether Hyram crossing his legs on the floor or Aubrey kicked up on her bed, with her slice literally resting on her stomach, it was a feast. It was the most improper he’d eaten since the ramen out of a cup at his job. He wasn’t ashamed to admit how often he had eaten ramen in the absence of spending money while at college, yet another thing he liked to keep from his parents. They would always offer to send him money, but there were strings attached. They were professionals at making him feel guilty, to the degree where he would rather them not offer anything at all.

The conversation so far had been far from what he needed out of it. Despite hesitation from the punk on many subjects, Aubrey and Chloe were catching up. A lot of parts from before the storm were hard for Chloe to focus on, evidenced by the way she brushed them off. Max would contribute as well, when she felt it necessary. Hyram had been constructive, too. The cameraman’s questions regarding their new life and other aspects actually brought more humanity out of the two girls. They were beginning to sound more like young adults suffering under the weight of real life, rather than mysterious heroes. _Damn Connor. Hitting close to home with that thought, aren’t you?_

Chloe didn’t dislike the boy sitting on the floor. If she did have a problem with him, the narrator had a feeling he would have already heard it. The boy’s humor had gone down a tick, but it was becoming all too clear why. He was policing himself, and all it had taken was a woman who could kick his ass harder than Aubrey to get that going. Still, he shouldn’t wear a mask and just be himself. There was no reason to pretend around Chloe, from how individualistic she appeared to be. There was also no chance in hell that Hyram actually believed he had a shot with her. If Aubrey’s “flatter shoe” comment from yesterday could have been used in the proper context, then he suspected it would suit Chloe. Either way, Hyram was crushing, and it was funny.

By this time, the two girls had separated during the discussion, Max preferring to sit down at the coffee table by the window while Chloe had no gripes plopping down on the bed with Connor. Side by side they weren’t that different in height. She was beating him by maybe an inch or so. What he could also smell now that they were next to each other was the odor of funky smoke. She hadn’t been fibbing about her “medication” but he assumed she was smart enough to do outside the back door rather than in the room.

“Gotta say, I’m a little bit jealous of you,” Chloe said to Aubrey, while chewing her food. “I had the drive for college once upon a time. Now I don’t have time for it.”

“Sometimes I wonder how I have time,” the beach blonde replied, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m supposed to make no less than 80 grand as a starting salary. Would sure help if I knew which place to go into. Criminology majors offer a lot of variety.”

“My knowledge comes from crime novels,” Max jumped into the conversation from across the room, where she had opted for eating her pizza off of a table and napkin. “But I make a pretty good detective.”

“Detectives Caulfield and Price, at your service,” Chloe’s voice took on a deeper, European tone to it while shooting her lover an ambiguous look. All Connor could gather was that there was an inside joke at play.

“I got a job at a warehouse store, like I said,” Chloe returned, picking up her next pizza slice. This would be her fourth. _That’s a lot of pizza, I hope she’s okay._ “There’s this bitch named Claire, my old supervisor. She always gave me shit for doing my job right,” the girl paused, swallowing another bite. “Did you guys know, if you’re really good at your job, you get to do someone else’s job at the same time?”

“Boy, do I,” Aubrey stuck out her tongue. “Thank god I don’t work at the ice cream shop anymore.”

“So Claire loses her spot for arguing with a customer. The GM came right up to me, and said the words ‘Chloe, you have been an exemplary employee. You should apply for the new supervisor position. I’d love for that to reach my desk’. You tell me, does that sound like a guaranteed admission to you?”

“Uhuh,” Connor muttered, picturing an older bald man with a beer gut approaching Chloe with a jolly smile. _Probably wore all red too._ “Although with your impression, for some reason I’m thinking his name was Saint Nicholas.”

“Nah,” she said, briefly gazing towards him. “His name was Thomas. Anyway, the instant I take initiative, they transfer a new guy from another location. Omar was pretty nice, but he was given the new supervisor position just like that.” The pizza in her hands was now on her lap, half-eaten. “Just a little bit frustrated with my job. It pays our bills. That’s it.”

“Thank you, Chloe,” Max unexpectedly said from across the room. Chloe’s head rolled back and a thick grin revealed her warming towards the other woman.

“No problem, babe.” Connor wondered if Chloe was the only breadwinner in the household. It could have been a simple acknowledgment of gratitude for her hard work, but Max had yet to tell them anything about her side of things in their life. He could always be proven wrong later.

“I’ve mainly done theater reception,” the cameraman on the floor said. “Other than fireworks in the building, I haven’t waded through much shit.”

“Fireworks?” Chloe said, with a piqued curiosity. “What kind of patriot took fireworks into a movie theater?”

“The kind that got trespassed and arrested?” the boy scrutinized her. “It’s funny from an outside perspective, I know that. But I had to deal with it on shift.”

“I wish I could have just recorded that,” Aubrey told him. “ _Funny from an outside perspective_ , huh?”

“Come on, guys. I’m funny to lighten the mood. It’s always to cheer you up,” defended Hyram.

“I dunno,” Chloe offhandedly said. “I’ve never heard somebody tell me that their ‘jimmies were rustled’ before you.”

“We’re just trying to say you try too hard, pal.” the editor had been trying to make this point known for some time, and with Chloe on her team they were effectively letting him down as gently as they could. Perhaps, for his own ego, it was better this way. “You saved my life too, but you don’t need to quip like a sidekick every time something happens.”

Connor hadn’t seen Hyram this flustered since High School. He had nothing to say, shoving the rest of his pizza slice down so fast that it became an ungodly spectacle. Once he managed to swallow it whole without choking, he regarded both of them with a stare that the narrator could only think meant he currently hated them.

Before they continued getting to know one another, Connor couldn’t contain it any more. Sitting on the bed made him restless. He had woken up next to a totem pole with superpowers and a vision of the world’s death. The plot revolving around Olhouser and the detectives was still ongoing. Sean Prescott’s secrets were now in the hands of shady people. Max and Chloe had shown up out of nowhere, meeting them at exactly the perfect moment. These were now clawing away at his conscious, and he needed answers.

“Alright,” Connor took control of the conversation, with every head in the room turning to face him. “I can’t sit on it anymore. I have to get some answers. Max, Chloe: why did you come? Why did you send us to the Prescott Estate?”

The air in the room became thick, and Connor wasn’t sure if he suddenly felt it difficult to breathe or if the tension underneath the meeting finally surfaced. Chloe turned towards her girlfriend at the other side of the room, who appeared pushed against the seat in a way that conveyed anxiety. As sure as he was that Aubrey and Hyram wanted these answers too, they didn’t look quite as ready to hear this as he thought they would.

“Max?” Chloe asked cautiously. Max nodded, though her voice did not emerge. It was as if a thousand images had flashed past her, as she and Connor locked eyes. She was seeing something that he wasn’t, and the intensity started to unnerve the urban explorer. He broke the gaze, waiting for the photographer to at least offer a denial or rejection.

“You’re all in grave danger,” Max informed him.

“Okay,” Chloe began. “Talk about breaking—”

“—the ice,” Hyram finished, slightly louder than she had. In all fairness, Chloe’s voice had faltered as she said it, giving him the advantage. It was obvious they hadn’t meant to start or finish each other’s sentence. The sentiment lingered, though. Connor had jumped straight into it, forcing Max to embrace the topic.

“What do you mean?” Connor needed more than just a warning, almost jumping up from his seat from anticipation. Yes, she knew they were in danger. Her and Chloe had sent out the email, had picked them up, and were now helping them hide out. He couldn’t deny the thought that he caught at the start of this. Did Max know about the storms from his vision? What did they really know that compelled them to track down a bunch of kids on Spring Break, and then pull them out of a really bad situation? If now was a good time to ask about her reasons, then it might as well be time to reveal the contents of his vision.

“Can we talk about this in private?” Max beseeched, rising to her feet with shaky hands. “Next door? I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” The punk was fixated on her now, as if waiting for a cue to stop any further questions from coming out. Chloe was going to be protective of Max, he figured that. Here, though, she did not stop Max as she walked past the silent Hyram and Aubrey and to the room’s door. Before getting a chance to leave the room, Hyram spoke up.

“Why can’t we talk about this in the open?” he asked, a fair point Connor sympathized with. If she was going to drop a bunch of crazy stuff, they should all be there to hear it.

“Trust me. I need to talk to Connor alone first.” While eager and desperate to get some clarity on their nightmare, the narrator was raising his guard. He felt something inside of him swelter, as if getting ready for some kind of fight.

Connor said nothing as he put down his own pizza slice and left the room with her, grabbing Aubrey’s key card as he did so. Any protest that the cameraman had was gone, only nudging Connor as he left the room last. Outside, only a housekeeper seemed to notice their existence as he took the key card out and swiped it through the door lock. A gentle green light came on the lock, and the door unlocked.

Their room was more of the same he had seen in Chloe’s, in terms of style. Two beds and small TV were in expected locations, as was the bathroom and tiny patio that led to the parking lot. As soon as they had closed the door, Max ignored him until she finally turned to address him from the end of the bedroom.

“We’re in private,” Connor assessed, his hands sliding into his pants pockets. This was it. If anything bad was about to happen to him, he was at least capable of blowing up the room. Maybe. “What are you going to tell me?”

“No matter what I’m about to say, I want you to understand that none of this is bullshit. Everything is true, and it’s going to be hard to accept,” she warned him, an arm outstretched with an open hand. “Bottom line, I’m not here to hurt you. I’m not working with Dannel or Barry. I’m not working with Sean Prescott. I’m not working with Hugh Olhouser. Alright?”

“Alright,” Connor gave, with one brow suddenly risen. If she had been trying to calm him down, it didn’t work. “We never mentioned any of those names. How did you know that?”

“I have a power,” Max told him, her gaze hardening. “A terrible power. I can rewind time. I just used it to find out you have a kind of atmokinesis. And you’ve had visions. I had you go to the Estate because it was safer than your original destination. It put you into harm’s way, I know, and I’m sorry. When I tried to talk about this in front of your friends, they got super psyched out and a big fight started.”

Hard to accept was far too light a phrase to describe the bombshell that Max had just dropped on his shoulders. What he had expected, he didn’t even know at this point, but never did he think that Max Caulfield was going to tell him she could “rewind” time. His gut reaction was to deny the possibility of such a claim, and yet the cognitive dissonance was short lived. He had said nothing about the visions to her, nor did he even drop hints about his uncertain abilities. He could demand further proof, but how else could she know about the visions, much less his power? She was a fucking time traveler. “I came here, because of the vision you had. Of tons of giant storms ravaging the country? It’s going to come true and I think it all started in Arcadia Bay.”

“What started in Arcadia Bay?”

“The anomalies. This month, this year, everything went to shit. I don’t know why or how. I want to find out.” Max touched the side of her head, as if a headache just overcame her. “Before I came back, that storm shelter you guys found had been blown open. Aside from trying to save you guys, there was a lead inside the bunker that I found when digging about it..”

“...This was before or after you time traveled?” Connor’s legs felt weak as she described the events. He let his body give and sat down on the bedside. The great power she had, the one she described as terrible, changed everything he had thought about the trip. He felt so tiny in next to the woman who could theoretically undo his entire existence. _I don’t know what else to say. What in the fuck is going on with the world?_

“Before,” Max clarified. “The detectives probably know it now too, but Sean Prescott referred to someone as an oracle. Whoever the oracle was, they had predicted Arcadia Bay would be destroyed and,” in the middle of the sentence, she stopped talking. Something had caught her words, to the point where Connor’s demanding gesturing made it worse, but his the his mind was already racing about the many ways this conversation could turn.

“Sorry.” he said, restraining himself. If she was having difficulty talking about this, the last thing she needed was Connor’s querulous impatience. There was plenty in the storm shelter that they missed. Max probably didn’t need to see if if she already found the information. The detectives must have been after that, if they’re truly looking into the paranormal. “Olhouser babbled about an oracle too. He was trying to capture us, to say we had a part to play. You should ask Hyram, he heard it better than I did.”

“Something happened during your trip that kickstarted the end of the world,” she solemnly said, giving Connor a chill that was so severe it seemed to steal the breath from his lungs. “I came back in time to stop that from happening. I hope I don’t make it worse.”

The little brunette before him was trying to save the world. She was balancing the weight of the planet on her shoulders, something he would never be able to understand. By doing so, she was also shifting some of that weight onto his own. The dire implication was that he was directly involved in the end of the world. His mind was, effectively, blown. To carry such a burden, to even think that they could be stronger than the very momentum of time itself, was insane. This only posed further questions, however, as Connor suddenly considered what else she could have tampered with to get there.

“Tell me, how far back did you have to go to fix things?” Connor entreated.

“Three years. 2018,” she admitted quietly. Now would be an appropriate moment for Hyram to pull an obscure meme from the internet to describe the mindfuck Connor was experiencing. She had jumped back _three_ whole years? He couldn’t even predict what the world would look like in three years.

“Why three?” he asked her.

“My power is dangerous. Changing one outcome could have consequences that you could never see coming. I didn’t rewind because I was afraid to. But by 2018, it got so bad that I had no choice.”

“I’m partially speechless,” the narrator explained. “I believe it. All of it. But you’re right about it being hard to accept. How did you figure out it was us?”

The brunette flinched, as if expecting a different question. “Arcadia Bay research. Your webshow was on the first page of search results. AubreyRevoir made an announcement about coming here.” As he nodded about the answer, the woman relaxed. He couldn’t understand why, at this point in the conversation, she would get all tensed up after the cat was out of the bag.

“What could happen on this trip that could cause anomalies to occur?” was his next point. He was trying to follow her as best he could, but even Max didn’t sound like she was an expert on the pseudoscience. Although, was it really pseudo if its real?

“Ever heard of Chaos Theory?” Max asked him.

“Vaguely,” Connor said. “That’s about the unpredictability of the universe, right? Like entropy?” Like the vision.

“Kind of, yeah. Everything is about unpredictability in nature, unseen variables. One event, one tiny event that occurred on this trip could be the spark that burns our world down.” While he still didn’t exactly comprehend all the concepts of Chaos Theory, since it was difficult to quantify, he got the basic gist. Like that episode of Time Squad, just crushing a bee could create a giant monster bee to show up at some point in the timeline. _Although, that’s a rather exaggerated example._ “Its overwhelming, I know. I’m sorry to drop it all on you like this. My power scares me. If I didn’t have to use it, I wouldn’t.”

“How did you know, that it was during this week specifically? Just because the anomalies began here doesn’t necessarily mean the fix could be here, right?” Why come back to this point, of all points? Was there something she wasn’t telling him?

“If it’s not, I can just rewind until I find it, right?” That was when he realized she was winging this entire thing. Max was definitely beyond his own limits. She has had an ability to jump back through time, a few years to hone her skills, and she was still running with it. If she thought she was going to jump around until the end of time, then she had to think too little of her own mental health. He was no master at understanding this stuff, but what she had just implied sounded depressing and dangerous. However, there was yet another point he had just thought of. It should make sense if he was following the logic laid out before him.

“Well, the good news is you haven’t fucked up yet,” Connor smiled at her, earning a relieved smile in return. “You’d have come back in time and told me we have to do something different, right? So that would mean you guessed right coming here! The solution has to be in Arcadia Bay.”

“Heh. I don’t know if it’s as simple as that,” Max sighed. “What do you think, now that I’ve told you everything I know?”

Connor pondered, as much as he could. Putting the pieces together slowly, there was one last thing he wanted from her. “Just one more question. I apologize in advance.” Max’s look of relief twisted to fear, and she must have caught onto what he was about to bring into light. “I get the feeling that you two were Bay residents before, you know… The storm two years ago. Did the Prescotts have anything to do with it?”

Max, who had started to raise her hand into the air as if to protest the question, immediately dropped it to her side. As if the joy had returned to her countenance, she rubbed the back of her head with a contained smirk. “I don’t know about that. All I do know is that no matter what I did, I couldn’t change the outcome. There was a lot of shit going on in Arcadia Bay, Connor.”

“I’ve heard. Between Mark Jefferson and the Prescotts, you had your hands busy.”

“Fuck Mark Jefferson,” Max cursed, her fists forming almost instantly at the mention. She had likely went to Blackwell Academy, where Jefferson had preyed on the students before his death behind bars. “I hoped I’d never have to be back here again.”

“I’m glad you are,” Connor reassured her. Regardless of the secrets she held, Max Caulfield was now the most interesting person he had ever met. Combined with his own powers, the intellect and support of their three friends, they had to find a way to save the world. He wanted to help people his entire life, with no aim on how to do it. There was no turning back from this, not while he was already in the middle of it. It was both exhilarating and paralyzing to think that the fate of everything was on their hands. “Now. Let’s talk about my powers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 7/9/18


	10. Sudden Catharsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyram and Chloe learn that they aren't so different from each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 7/11/18

**Chapter 10: Sudden Catharsis**

 

On the way down to the lobby, Hyram noted how the staff were winding down just as the guests were. The staff were waving, smiling, asking if he needed any assistance, but they were an afterthought compared to other things on his mind. Rather, Hyram was concentrating on the plethora of new information he had gained only an hour ago. He wasn’t sure if this was all a dream or if he was just going insane, but he had a friend who had split a door open by shooting lightning from his hand, had been saved by a woman who could whip his ass with words alone as well as a fucking _time traveler_. The way Max had dropped that fact so casually, and how Chloe had cracked a joke that she needed to stop running into these types of people made him purse his lips. Weird timing too, considering he had just passed a greeting housekeeper.

The truth bomb talk had only lasted about ten minutes give or take, since their criminology major went nuts with it. She was so eager to comprehend it all, but had opted to jump right into something called “Multiverse Theory” and less on more, frankly important points such as what Connor’s visions actually meant or what Max was capable of. At least, that’s what Hyram had thought should’ve taken priority. He ended up asking the important questions, something he thought his inquisitive beach blonde friend would’ve been the one to do instead. _I guess she’s too astonished to know two superheroes and wasn’t thinking straight. Should I feel that way? I think I should._

Max could rewind time like a cassette tape. She could go even further back by interacting with pictures or images she took, sending her to that time and place granted she was in the picture. By her own admission, she was no master over the abilities she carried; instead figuring it out as they had evolved naturally. He had asked for a demonstration, and that ended with Chloe unwillingly discovering that his boxers were pink. While that struck him as more of an x-ray power, she claimed to have rewound to tell them after learning about his colored undies. _How_ Max had learned had been rest once she promised it was only through conversation. It had been embarrassing then, but he had long passed that train of thought and chose instead to think about the application of such a tremendous power. _Imagine if I had her power back when everything went to shit at home. I could have fixed everything with the snap of my fingers._

There was also the whole “Connor, I gotta tell you this stuff first in private” spiel that he really didn’t care for. He had brought this up several times, because for two people they had just met to foster such a sense of secrecy struck him as off. According to Max, she had rewound then too because she had fucked up explaining something, he and Aubrey had gotten mad over it, Chloe had gotten heated at _them_ , and it had been a generally bad time for Max and Connor. It was just a moment where he had shrugged and let it go, he wasn’t going to understand either way.

The visions were a monster of their own. Now, he could see that Connor was infatuated with the idea of saving the world. Max, even though she seemed sympathetic to the idea, was clearly more level headed about that endeavor. Since Hyram was drinking the koolaid on this, he had at least been honest about his opinion, here: they were just five young adults, barely breaking through the barriers of adolescence. The girls in the room had all lost their home town, one developed her rewind, and Aubrey loved someone not worth their time. Connor’s parents barely knew their child and definitely not that he could change the weather, and Hyram wouldn’t even go through the injustices in his own life. All in all, the simple truth was that even with superhuman powers, he knew they were ultimately powerless to change the fate of an entire planet.

There was also no way Max was so invincible that she could keep going the way she had been forever. With all the stories of jumping between multiple timelines, seeing countless deaths, and what she explained to be “mental episodes” where she had been trying to piece together the memories, it was shocking to see her still standing. Yet, here she was, on a mission to save the world. Max _couldn’t_ be that infallible. Now, when he voiced this she shut him down fast, adding to her stories that she made it out and saved what she could. He could not even imagine a world parallel to their own that, even with the tiniest change to it, could have dire implications on the rest of the universe it resided in. Just trying to picture it hurt his head, and brought the idea of liquor to his mind. That wasn’t out of the question, considering the bar across the street. He conceded he knew nothing about any of it, and that she was the time lord. It did not make his qualm any less real.

Hyram wasn’t so sold on Connor’s soul searching, his desire to find a purpose for his new strength, but Connor was still a friend he would support to the end. Max and Chloe, however much he distrusted them, weren’t trying to kill them. There was something about their arrival that raised doubts in his mind. It had been poor timing, and they had directed them back to Arcadia Bay rather than somewhere safe. He knew it was out of his comprehension, with the time travel shit involved, but this was for some reason, hard to wrap his head around. If Max was telling the truth, then there were two things that he needed to figure out. The first one, was why she chose not to stop the ambush by the detectives or, for that matter, the initial attack from the old man to start with. The second thing was whether she was manipulating his friends into the whole “save the world” plan. Maybe his skepticism wasn’t as healthy as it felt, but it didn’t waver.

Once they had finished up in the hotel room and he had adjusted his stupid disguise—also something he was gonna get this woman back for—Hyram was now on his way out of the hotel to check out the surrounding area. He’d be careful, of course, but they weren’t in Arcadia Bay anymore. The bar was right next door, and practically shared the parking lot with the hotel. Across the street, a dead strip mall was the only thing around see aside from the dark mountains in the distance. There was something almost otherworldly about urban lots, with their bright street lamps shining throughout the night. Hyram had always felt a supernatural connection to specific places, at specific times of the day. In the concrete jungle, he felt it most often when a city appeared close to abandoned, all life retreating to the confines of their homes. This lot, with all but one lamp post operable, was one of those places.

Once he crossed over, it turned out that looks could be deceiving and he was disappointed. The strip mall wasn’t one of the cool abandoned places he might consider taking photos of for their blog later on. No, this place was just lame and with the major department store closing in around an hour, all he had time to do was conspicuously wander through and stare at all the things he wasn’t going to buy. He felt like he was bothering the employees, tired from a boring shift and ready for anything strange to come through their doors last minute. Perhaps, even welcoming it. After enough of his life wasted in a place he would never visit again, he departed the store with a new destination in mind _. It’s beer time._

“How does a name like that sell?” The young man, feeling the weight of his dreads underneath the skull cap, remarked as he walked through the front door of _The Dive_. He had hoped he didn’t look like a Rastafarian experimenting with a goth phase, but that was absolutely what he must have looked like. Beyond the front doors, though, he lucked out as the bar was as expected: dead, with inapt metal music blaring across the sound system.

The establishment itself was a shabby bar that wrapped around the center of the room, with neon lighting bordering the corners of the ceiling. It didn’t match up with the inner city hang outs, that was for certain. One person was on duty, who regarded him with friendly but suspicious eyes as he worked the draft dispensers. He really couldn’t look _that_ bad, if they were trying to keep him incognito. No, the bartender probably knew that he was too young to drink. His face must have been the give-away as two of the patrons eyed him like he was about to aid in a sting operation. Another pair, two old men toward the middle of the room, seemed fixated on a basketball game displayed on a monitor closest to the wall near the front door. A fifth, clearly having the time of his life, clung to the edge of the bar with a smitcher to his lips. _Hold on. He’s actually_ drinking _the smitcher, not his glass. Could I please get that hammered?_

It registered that he had stood in the doorway for several seconds instead of just making his way in. He wanted to see the leisure that the bar offered aside from alcohol, but the true star of the night emerged from around the corner where the play room was. Chloe Price was certainly someone to stand out, even as she drank the cheapest piss beer with a pool stick in the other hand. It wasn’t clear how long she had been there or how many beers she had already chugged down, but a second grumpier patron leaving the play room indicated she had just murdered someone in a game of pool. The tattoo running along her arm was sexy, but her whole physique caught his eye every time. _And everytime I catch myself looking, I’m ashamed._ Despite the fact that he had no reason to like her yet, he still found her quite a beauty, even as she finished up half the bottle in her hands. No doubt that the loud, primal guitar rift layered over the metal was her doing. _Hope she isn’t dropping a bunch of our cash into this place._ Grabbing a seat near the old man at the far end of the bar, Chloe awaited the quiet employee to tend to her. No sooner had she noticed Hyram standing aimlessly had the older man beside her start to shamelessly look her over. He thought she would have kicked his ass if she was paying attention to that.

“Alex,” she greeted cheerfully, reminding him once more of his asinine alias. She either hadn’t noticed that the creep next to her was interested, or she didn’t care. Placing her pool stick against the countertop, she beckoned for him to keep walking. “Get over here.”

“Be right there, _Chloe_ ,” he said, nearly hissing her name out of disdain for pseudonym she had proclaimed for him. The nickname was the only black mark she had on his books so far, and he was still upset over just how funny and opportune it had been. He wasn’t admitting that to her though, nope. The punk enjoyed every bit of anguish he had expressed over it as it, so she didn’t need a concession of defeat to make her head even bigger. Even now, seeing how pleased his frustration made her melted his supposedly-quick wit as he walked past the long row of empty seats.

“What, don’t like the nick?”

“It’s not my favorite,” Hyram replied, without sitting down. The bartender raised a finger, inquiring if he wanted anything but had not yet requested his ID. It was tempting to push his luck and see if they would ID him at all, but he wasn’t prepared to make a scene. They definitely couldn’t eject him if they didn’t know, and as far as he recalled, minors were allowed, up to certain times, to enter. He assumed the cutoff time was likely nine or so. As for the creep seated next to Chloe, he started to mind his own business once he realized that Hyram was onto him.

“Thought you’d love it,” she teased him, leaning back in the chair so she could do a prolonged stretch that made the idea of stretching himself sound enticing. “It’s exactly as you put it, ‘Damn Chloe, I look like a gay frog with this disguise’.” There were plenty of phrases and words he wished he had never said, but this would go down as his number one regret. _It’s the chemicals in the water, he says. They’re turning the frogs gay, he says._ Obviously, if she was resorting to one-upping his humor, she wasn’t necessarily opposed to it, but he still felt an urge to slowly let it out rather than all at once.

“I guess it’s not as bad as Marry Jane,” he stated, staring at the seated men to the door he had passed on the way in. They were keeping to themselves, though whatever they had been smoking emanated a nasty smell. There were cigarettes, and then there was this, like taking a dive into an ocean of nicotine. Unlike those two, Chloe didn’t appear to smoke the really gross shit if her comments back at the hotel were anything to go off of. Still waiting on her next beer, she prompted him to order something.

“What are you having?” she asked him, as if waiting for him to sit down beside her. He realized that the violet-haired woman didn’t know how young he really was, and that perhaps he was expecting too much from the place and _could_ get away with it.

“Not exactly of age,” he quieted himself, throwing up his arms in a lazy gesture. “I wish, though.” In actuality, he really craved a bitter brand that he had grown fond of in Muncie. His tastes were widespread after discovering the wonderful world of craft and imported brews. _Thank god for that Viking bar. What was the name, Heorot or something?_ Hyram had done plenty of partying at Ball State, but he was by no means, a beer connoisseur. In light of the facts, or perhaps not in light of them, Chloe scooted away from the bar and stood up. The bartender returned just in time, as he ostensibly noticed she was leaving at a very inopportune moment.

Finally receiving her beer, she rose to her full height, which was an inch shorter than him. The tone of her voice and the direction her eyes rolled caught him not only by surprise, but left him feeling unprepared. “You’re of age to play with this girl.” Not entirely catching her meaning, he found his heartbeat pick up. There was no way she was implying something with that, right?

Then, as if to knock him loose from the obnoxious spell, Chloe shoved the pool stick into his chest. “I’m kicking your ass in pool to get my mind off of things.” It was in that moment when he felt like a moron, and so glad that he hadn’t said a word about it aloud. “Never played pool?” she asked, noticing his confused visage. He had to save the moment before she implored further, and found his hands rubbing the back of his head. _There’s no way she didn’t see my dumb face. God damn it, pull it together, man. You’re here to relax._

“No. Was uh, caught up on the guy to your right,” he lied. Diverting her attention to the man pretending he hadn’t been ogling at her, Hyram took the pool stick and felt the weight of it in his hands. It had been some time since he had played pool, with Connor’s family having a table of their own in the garage. His brunet pal was garbage at pool, and so often Connor’s father would have to step in and shoot for him. Hyram had played enough to consider himself well-versed, but definitely out of practice.

“Oh, that guy.” Chloe said, leaving the counter and indicating she was headed to the play room. “He’s been staring at every woman who comes in. Probably hasn’t seen one in decades.” Chloe could have been a manic pixie dream girl to some guy out there, but once they got to know her, that misconception would be shattered. She was rough yet well-mannered, intelligent yet still laughed at bad puns, and even if she gave off an impression of responsibility Hyram suspected she knew how to thrash. On the surface, she _was_ indeed a perfect woman but one who had no time for bullshit. He had not gotten to know her, to see inside of her head to form a real opinion of her. He often joked about an observation he once made, that the most fascinating and deep women were already taken by the time you got to meet them. The woman in front of him was most certainly fascinating, attractive, and full of emotion he had not yet seen. Her partner was _definitely_ deep, though more on the mysterious side. Together, she and Max made an interesting couple. His biggest disadvantage wasn’t the fact that those who caught his eye were always unavailable, but that he never put himself out there to meet anyone. Nobody ever wanted to get to know him, and his standards were unrealistically high in comparison to his own accomplishments. _Probably my inability to not be a moron, too. Don’t sell yourself_ too _short though, man. You’ve pulled through some bad stuff. One day, though. When I have all my shit together, I will rule the fucking world._

After hearing Chloe’s life story back at the hotel—what little of it she had offered—he was envious. They had lived in one of the most expensive parts of the country and made it work. With help from Max’s family, they had started up in Seattle together before settling right outside of Los Angelos. They had luxury in the fact that family was there to help out. During Hyram’s move from California to Ohio, then Indiana, Auteberry Senior was off on trips while his mom tended to five kids. In such a big family, his brothers and sisters were often neglected. Then the accident happened, and he had no one to guide him. _Good on them for making it in a cruel world, but damn I wish I had that kind of help._ It was also a pleasant surprise to learn that they were so close to his home turf, with him and his ilk living in proximity to San Bernardino. The photographer and her lovely assistant were about an hour out from them, meaning that future meetups weren’t out of the question if things didn’t go crazy.

Somewhere on his person he felt a vibration. He reached into his pocket, eager to attend to whatever caused the notification. It only took one second to read the name of the missed caller before he slid it back in without further attention. His only sister, Secilia, needed something from him, yet again. It was possible that she had received the news by now, and it was also likely she wanted to talk to him about it. _More than likely she_ wants _something. I know Secilia._ Definitely not good timing to be asking, too. She had never harassed their mother as much as she did him.

“Hyram?” the tattooed punk nudged him with the pool stick, breaking character with the pseudonym. “You playing pool or not?”

“My name’s Alex, who the fuck is Hyram?” he chastised in a hushed voice, taking the stick and watching the light smile emerge on her face. They made a bee line towards the play room, just as the music shifted from something intense to a cool ambiance. Chloe perked up, recognizing the long start to the classic metal song. He remembered the exact one playing as well, and as soon as the intro dropped and the vocals rose along with the electric guitar he flicked back his head. Chloe reached over and caught the skullcap from flying off of his head, and he realized her grin had disappeared.

“We aren’t in the pit, chill.” It was only slightly embarrassing, with how he had nearly blown cover and all. He definitely looked like the one who had had a few beer, rather than her. Thankfully, nobody was there to witness his klutz moment aside from the violet warrior, and he soon relaxed after reaching the first pool table. They were alone in this part of the bar, with only the music and a static TV screen mounted above them.

“Here it comes,” Chloe warned him excitedly, as Hyram waited for her to elaborate. She was leaning on the table, without a care in the world all of a sudden. His yearning for clarity was answered by her own voice, just as loud as the singer’s, as she sang along to the lyrics with no trouble at all. “Plea-sure fused with pain is triumph of the soul will make you shiver tonight,” she followed up with the grunts accompanying the verse. “Will make you shiver tonight, yeah!”

He didn’t remember every word of the song, but he did know his favorite part was coming up. Waiting for the right moment to jump in, he matched her and they both sang the final line of the verse; except he added a little flair to the song, flair she wouldn’t see coming. Playing comedic entrepreneur, he shouted, “ten thousand fists in my ass!”

Chloe stopped her dancing and stared at him as if he had just committed a heinous crime. He offered a wide childish smirk in return, though the shock humor approach was intended to make her laugh. She had not laughed, instead adopting a troubling look that only raised doubts that his attempt was successful. Eventually though, as the moment lingered on, a guttural noise came from the girl. “Oh, kay.”

“Just okay?” He probed, leaning across the table. He already made this bed, so he had to lay in it. A playful scowl came across her face, pointing a finger at him while sipping more of her beer.

“That was more of a ‘long car ride surprise’ than a ‘podunk bar where everyone can hear you surprise’. I’ve gotta go back up there, you know, and now I might have to explain whether you really found that funny or if you’re just wasted.” Chloe moved from the pool table to the taller, lounge table beside them and placed her beer down. Hyram stared back, trying to come off as disappointed pouting, as if that shitlord attempt at making her laugh had taken great effort. What _did_ take great effort was not for him to apologize profusely. “Alright, had it been my fourth beer? That would’ve been kind of funny. The last time you said something this stupid, remember what happened, Alex? I won’t give up on you yet, though.” She alluded back to his nickname, and Hyram really hoped she wouldn’t find a way to turn that against him too. “C for effort, though I think after that elementary school attempt you deserve to rack the balls.” Referring to him as if he were a dog that needed to be house trained, Chloe wandered to the other side of the table and he wasn’t certain she was entirely joking with the dehumanizing commentary. Regardless, he thought it was probably time he calmed down and thought about future words to Chloe. This wasn’t Connor, nor was it Aubrey—who had already grown tired of his shit—so toning it down was a good thing. _Connor could laugh at an empty TV screen for how easy he is to please._

And so he took the rack, organizing the balls in an acceptable order, and set the table up. They would be playing with only one cue stick, and he had wanted to hear the story of what happened to the first. _Too late now, I’m about to wipe that confidence off of her face._ As he moved the balls around in the proper order, he thought he could try some small talk. After all, both of them were here to pretend like they weren’t on an ‘end of the world mission’.

“Hey, so what’s it like to have a time-hopping girlfriend?” After saying it he expressed subtle regret, because perhaps Max and her powers were not a topic to discuss in public. Chloe didn’t mind as a chuckle left her lips, something he had been waiting for since they left the bar. He hadn’t entirely fucked up so far, so brownie points to that.

“Besides the sex being fantastic?” Chloe shot back, nearly bending over the table as she lined the cue with the cue ball. “Now _that_ was a joke.”

 _Waaaaiiit, so it’s_ not _fantastic?_ he had almost said. “Right,” was what came out instead as the punk continued checking the balls she was soon to break.

“Max is a handful, I’ll tell you that. But she saved me, and I love her.”

“She saved you?” He asked, watching her practice her strikes with the cue. She preferred to get as low as possible, as if to get into an equilibrium with the stick and her aim. For a moment, he thought that she might actually be the better billiards player. _Hold on, those are two distinct games Hyram._

“It’s no coincidence that I’m alive. Without her, I’d be dead,” she seemed to ponder about the story, her eyes wandering to the ceiling and her lips scrunching up. “Probably a bunch of times, but I don’t mean to brag or anything.”

“I’m assuming that’s some time travel shit you’re referring to,” he said with finality, his hands clasping together. That was the obvious conclusion, for sure. Knowing your life was in someone else’s hands was powerful, but Hyram never wanted to experience such feeling. The vulnerability behind it, as tempting as it sounded, wasn’t for him. Despite his personal fear of the concept, he could tell that Chloe was blessed to have Max, and Max to have Chloe. “I think that’s about the most I’ve gotten out of you about Arcadia Bay.” Yeah, Max had _definitely_ hinted that there was time fuckery involved with the storm. It was a secret Hyram could keep, though posting even one unfounded rumor on the internet was tempting to think about. The amount of conspiracy garbage already flowing down the cyber styx about Arcadia Bay would be doubled, even tripled, if the words time and travel were brought up. Actually, with the way the internet was, someone out there had to have come up with the idea already.

“You’re one to talk,” Chloe replied, squinting down the table as she appeared ready to strike. “You’ve dodged plenty of shit, last I checked. You know, your comedy tour can only distract them for so long.” The cue made contact with the cue ball, violently propelling it into the rest at Hyram’s end of the table. Her strike broke up the table decently, sending balls off in random directions until one hit a corner pocket. Another followed at the next pocket closest to the jokester, before he realized she had scored the orange 5 and red 3. He waited until the end of the break to process what she had said, but then he had to wonder how she was picking up on his stress. _Why do women always read me so well?_ “Good break, huh? Looks like I’m solids.”

“Wouldn’t you be the same way if I asked you about your life in the Bay?” he asked her back, as she sat up and examined her options. Searching the edge of the table, Chloe found the square blue chalk and snatched it up. His eyes preyed on the playing field, trying to weigh his own options. While the break had been perfect for Chloe’s solids, it had left his stripes in a conglomerated group that required further breaking. On top of that, he was paying closer attention to what his opponent was saying than to the table.

“I’m trying, over here. You know the basics about me, about Max. You left a bad first impression, you know? I figured it wasn’t really you, so here we are.” Chloe said after a moment of calibrating herself closer to his end of the table, where her next target sat. _What first impression? When she called me an asshole? Oh, hell. That was totally on me. Combined with my shitty jokes, I must really look like a poser._ Any aura of comfort he had emanated had left the building, replaced with a critical analysis of his own behavior, the game unfolding, and Chloe. Speaking of the game and the woman, she was going to try for the green 6, being centered enough that a well placed strike could land it in one of the pockets. It only took several seconds before she launched the cue ball, smacking into the green but narrowly missing the intended pocket. The playing field shifted tremendously, her failed shot moving several of his own balls exactly where he needed them.

“Can’t help but notice you didn’t answer my question,” Hyram pointed out, accepting the stick from the punk, who moved back to the lounge table where her beer awaited. It might not hurt for more transparency, but it didn’t seem as relevant to the situation. Max having a time rewind, Connor changing the weather, those were the facts of the case. Unless Chloe had a secret power too, he had assumed talking about her home town—which had been eradicated, was her only issue. Hyram had nothing on the Prescott connection, or Olhouser’s gain from all of this. There was at least speculation for the detectives’ motives; they were apparently licensed private eyes that knew too much to be normal, but that could be a cover for something else. Unless she wasn’t testing him to see if they were hiding anything, that meant she was actually _interested_ in his life. Boy, he had definitely misjudged her. “Alright, let’s go. Interests and hobbies.”

Twenty minutes of constructive discussion led Hyram to believe Chloe was everything he had thought she was, plus a lot more. He mentioned skateboarding, and she used to skate. He brought up how he wanted to get a tattoo across his shoulders, and she offered to sketch it out for him. Chloe enjoyed spray paint and tagging, but he wouldn’t admit to her how often he had done that in his youthful rebellion phase. Their music tastes were scarily similar, even down to their dislikes. The concert lineups on her end far exceeded his own, but that came down to how he had spent his time when younger. They didn’t know of each other’s favorite artists but certainly embraced them. On the topic of drugs, he felt reprehensible after discovering that Chloe’s worst vice was cannabis. He slowly let it slip that he had tried molly only a few weeks ago. The woman only ribbed him, mentioning she was curious but also concerned for him.

Then, he mentioned his university work and pharmacy school. Perhaps the previous drug talk had made it difficult to see him in such a light, but Chloe had been perplexed. She stopped him, asked him to restate what he had said, and followed with a “Really? Didn’t expect that from you.” That was either code for ‘I had no idea you were mature enough to pull that off’ or ‘Sounds too boring for you’. He hadn’t had time to ask which it was, however, as the game’s pace picked up. Both of them had goals, to live a happy life. How they differed, he was still trying to understand. She was versed in politics, far more so than he could admit to. Connor’s bleeding heart liberalism would be more suitable to chat up about that, although his friend would come off much more cynical and nihilistic than Chloe when he really got into the issues. It was an interesting contradiction to Connor, having an unbelievably huge heart yet barely any faith in humanity.

“Wow,” she said, finishing her bottle off entirely, tilting it all the way up. This had been her third since he had walked through the door, and man, this girl could hold her alcohol. If she was buzzed, he could only tell from her casual, relaxed mood. Nothing about the exchange, even when they did throw some mud at each other, had been hostile. All the other symptoms of intoxication were absent in Chloe, the punk holding herself together with little effort required. “Two balls left. I bet you won’t make it.”

“Oh, I’ll make it,” Hyram promised, lining up his shot. The green battlefield was his to win—or lose. While he did have two stripes separating him from getting at the 8-ball, Chloe wasn’t that far behind him with three solids still in play. It hadn’t looked great until five minutes ago, when the momentum picked up in his favor. He had knocked in three balls, and then one more in his next turn. If he could push through the last two and get a crack at the 8-ball, victory would be his. “How about a wager?”

“Let it be known that you’re making a mistake. Betting against me is a curse.” Chloe informed him, the prideful attitude reinforcing that she was speaking from experience. “What is it?”

“When I get the 8-ball in, you’re gonna tell me all about Arcadia bay, and the storm,” he gradually said, rubbing his hands over his eyes. He initially wanted to ease her into the idea, but also needed to buy time as he said it. It was better to do all of that than watch her reaction, since he could be stepping in a direction that might be crossing the boundaries of their new relationship. “If that’s okay with you.”

He knew which shot would be his next, the blue 10 practically calling his name. The punk, he could see as he rose up, had already placed her hands on her hips. Showing no weakness, she replied: “Alex, even if I agreed, that requires you to beat me.”

“Oh, you’ll be eating those words in a few more minutes,” he assured her, wagging the stick in her direction. “Maybe you’ll need another beer to soften the crushing defeat.”

“Gonna make this a fair bet,” she remarked, proffering her hand for him to shake on it. “When you _lose_ , you’re gonna air out your conscience, starting with me.”

“What?” he questioned, his hand now inches away from hers. She leaned out and took it, squeezing his palm as if the sincerity had somehow changed with the action.

“You know what I’m saying. You haven’t opened up to anybody since you touched down in Oregon, have you? It’s in your shoulders, your behavior. You’ve had something eating away at you, is that right?” It wasn’t the fact that she was right, but that she had seen straight through his mask in a way that neither Aubrey nor Connor had. Yes, there was so much going through his head in regards to his family, but that wasn’t important right now. “Not trying to piss you off, just noticed some similarities between us. Heh,” she backed away to let him shoot, and seemingly to leave him to his thoughts.

“No, you’re on.” he agreed. “It’s not like I’m gonna lose.”

“I have a feeling you’ve said that once or twice before,” she taunted, as he resumed lining the cue stick between his fingers with a bent elbow. The striped 10 did not require a strong arm, but just enough force to roll it into the pocket without disturbing another ball. As he pushed the stick forward, the cue ball gradually knocked the 10 into a corner pocket. “One left. Can you make it?”

“Shut up, I’m trying to focus.” He moved to the edge of the table and, analyzing just what angle he needed to strike the red 15, balanced his bottom on the table’s metal trim. Chloe was watching him like a hawk, waiting for his feet to leave the ground and disqualify his shot. He wouldn’t let that happen, and once he released his new hit, the cue ball collided with the final stripe and pocketed it in the left center hole. “When I win, you’re definitely eating those words!” He peered back at her, with a mocking look of concern. She remained haughty, nodding at him to hurry up and finish the game.

“ _If_ you win,” she fixed the sentence for him, her eyes giving the impression she was judging from across the room at this point. It was obviously in good fun, but her arrogance had started to motivate him. At this point, he wanted to win more to just claim it than to hear about her past. Not that it wasn’t important to listen to her talk or anything. Only one ball stood between him and the sweet sound of his adversary conceding defeat.

He grabbed the chalk and tended to the end of the stick before lining up his decisive shot. The 8-ball was perfectly aligned with a corner pocket, and if he somehow missed this one he would kick himself in the ass. He closed his eyes and struck the cue ball, opening them up to witness what he could only describe as _hax_ as the 8-ball rolled off the corner pocket and back into the center of the table. “Hold up,” he began, angrily protesting. “How the hell does that happen?”

“Too bad so sad.” Chloe said, seizing the stick from his clutches. He found her mannerisms insanely alluring while simultaneously frustrating. She knew exactly how to nettle him, and had made a habit out of it since they first spoke. Her insistence that he was compensating was worrisome, though maybe there was truth to it. “Let’s finish this with style.” The punk spent the next minute or so gracefully knocking two of her three balls in, only missing her final attempt. _Looks like I get another chance to win this._ Instead of showing any care for her odds, she merely puffed out her chest as if she was intimidating him. The alcohol was starting to loosen her up, dragging his thought of a cold draft back to the forefront.

“This time, I won’t distract you. Go on and score,” Chloe said, sinking into the nearby cushion. She was observably drunk by now and definitely not a lightweight; Chloe had to have had her share of bar hopping adventures in LA. He could see now that there was no wiping off the smile that had settled on her face. Even if he pulled off a win, they could battle for five more games and a frown would never show up.

“Okay,” Hyram noted to himself. “Show this merch girl who’s boss.” The 8-ball was hugging a table corner closest to the bar, though more toward one of the center pockets. The cue ball was unfortunately at the other side entirely. His strike needed to pack a punch in order to score, so he chalked up the stick one last time before he bent over the table, lining the shot up between his fingers. He didn’t want to miss this one, his pride was now at stake. Chloe must have seen that too, otherwise she wouldn’t have been so smug. As he pushed the stick and struck the white ball, it fired across the table and slammed the 8-ball into the pocket. He broke from the table and over to Chloe who had placed a hand over her face. Rather than say what he wanted to hear, she appeared tickled by his win.

“You’re an amateur, aren’t you?” The patronizing voice of the bartender, who Hyram hadn’t noticed round the corner into the game room, directed his attention to the missing cue ball on the table. “You just scratched on the 8-ball, loser.”

“Which means, I win!” declared Chloe, on her feet and brushing past him to meet the bartender. “I’ll take another, please! Next one is celebratory.” Was it hubris or was it a lack of focus; had he really gotten so caught up in winning that he forgot how hard he was smashing the ball?

“I still got the 8-ball in!” he frantically reminded her, though resistance was futile. “We never specified it had to _only_ be the 8-ball. You only won by technicality.”

“Life sucks and we all die,” she told him, propping herself up against the end of the table where he had just embarrassed himself. “You got off easy, Alex. Usually these deals involve cash. Cash that goes into my pocket. Speaking of, we did have a deal.”

He hadn’t really given thought to the idea that he would be the one talking about his problems. Without planning on telling anyone but Connor and Aubrey, it almost felt wrong, like he was about to violate an unspoken agreement. Still, it was time he stopped holding it in and she wanted to hear it. Unsure of Chloe’s intentions, he had to galvanize himself for the impending conversation. “Give me a second. Still recovering from your Death Star trench run.”

“Hey,” she said, pulling his eyes from the floor back up to her face. She was sanguine and understanding now, all the competitiveness gone. “I’m holding your feet to the fire on this one, but you can trust me. Whatever you’re about to tell me, I promise it can’t be anything worse than what I’ve dealt with. I’m… sorry I called you an asshole earlier. You’re pretty awesome.”

“Why? I am definitely an asshole,” he corrected her.

“My bad, asshole.” she quipped, as the bartender delivered her fourth beer. “Sit, let’s talk.”

Once he settled into the seat and the bartender left them alone, she cured his hunger for beer by sliding over the opened bottle. She had taken at least one sip, but there was enough left to cause a foam eruption if he mishandled it. He offered her a warm thanks, and took a big swig of it before passing it back over.

“I needed that.” He said, a long sigh making its way out. It probably wouldn’t be enough to really get the parting going, but it was better than nothing. He was about to spill his guts all over the place, to a complete stranger. Well, was she truly a stranger by now? “What do you want to know about Hyram Denzil Auteberry?

“Tell me what’s got you hiding behind all the edgelord,” she requested, sipping the beer. “Nothing you say is going to make me run out of that door, I’m sure of it.”

“I’m not hiding behind it,” he said at first, watching her smile form as if drawing a conclusion she kept to herself. “I’ll try to ease into it,” he looked to her for approval, noting how strange it was that this hardcore rebel was suddenly coaching him on emotional release. “I moved away from San Bernardino in the ninth grade, up to Cleveland. I hated it, the usual. Crime was on the rise, weather sucked. I had to leave Connor behind, along with everyone else. But, the basic gist is that I have four siblings. My mom and dad fought a lot. He would leave, she’d cry. My brothers and sister, they always had a problem going on. But one day my dad had left for work and he never came back,” he paused, the lump in his throat he had initially fought with yesterday working its way up. The listener had grown quiet and attentive, but her blue eyes were so radiant. It was like she understood entirely where he was coming from despite what little he had said. A huge problem with having someone to lean on was that they didn’t share the ferocity of his emotions. He didn’t want a screaming room, he wanted to vent to somebody who could give real advice. Just from her eyes alone, Hyram believed he found someone who could relate. Chloe remained silent, and he took that as a measure of respect. He continued, the rush of emotions seizing him all at once.

“After the accident I um, I moved away to Muncie, Indiana after that. Couldn’t stand the pain, the chaotic family. I’d just finished up community college, almost failed due to all the stress. Everything got slightly better in Muncie. City still sucked. It’s the meth capital of Indiana, but it was way better than Cleveland. Then, while I was just getting my footing at the university, my mother had apparently overdosed.”

“Oh shit,” Chloe caught herself before saying more. He saw how she nearly reeled once he said it. In her eyes, tears were on the way. Maybe the fact that he hadn’t talked about the incident with anyone shrouded how tragic it really was, but he hadn’t expected her to get upset. He was rather numb to the facts by now, playing them over and over when there was nothing to occupy his time. He could feel tears of his own on his cheeks, and it was only the beginning. Chloe’s mouth was agape, and the boy realized then that what he had felt for years, what he was feeling in that moment, really wasn’t exclusive. When he was finished, it would be time to return the favor and listen to her side. “Hyram, from the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry. I _get_ what losing family feels like.”

“Well, that’s not the news I’ve been keeping everyone from,” he announced, though his voice was only strong for a mere instant. He had practiced saying this to Aubrey, or even Connor, but to the empathetic Chloe he might melt away before starting the sentence. “I received a call, while at the airport in Indiana.”

“Yeah?” she reached out to Hyram, gently placing her hand on his arm. “What was the call?”

“Cleveland Police. It turns out my mother wasn’t some piece of shit junkie with surgery drugs. She was murdered, and her case was opened back up.”

“Woah. That’s so much to take in.” Chloe retracted her hand, wiping the tears on her face. “Still, I’m really, really sorry you’ve gone through that. I lost my dad when I was fourteen. It was hell on earth. I had so much anger, nowhere to go.”

“How did you make it out so strong?” he inquired, suddenly reaching out to take the beer she had low-key offered again. This time, he lifted the entire bottle and chugged it down in impulse. Once he realized that there was nothing left in the bottle, it dawned on him that he just drank her whole beer. “Sorry.”

“You need more, by the looks of it,” she jested. “I’m strong because I had no choice but to be. I got fucking tired of sitting in my bed, smoking a joint day after day, while everything and everyone came down on me. I didn’t let the world destroy me, no matter how many people abandoned me. It’s like you said. You left. You wanted better, to do better. You couldn’t do it stuck in that environment.”

“I fucking _abandoned_ my siblings, Chloe. That rests on my conscience every god-damn day. They’re clueless, they have no inheritance. They never had people to teach them the proper right and wrongs.”

“That’s not on you, Hyram. Listen to me,” she ordered, his focus returned to her face. “None of that should rest solely on your shoulders. That’s total bullshit, and you know that too. Stop thinking you lack the capability to be a good person just because life dealt you a shitty hand.”

“Okay, fine. I ran away from all of it. Not a fucking person on my street was sober, everyone was addicted to something. They had no future, they just wanted to get high off that horse with no name. One of those fuckers is still running loose, after shooting my mom up to make it look like an accident.” The air had left his lungs and he was desperately trying to get it all back, regaining control of his breathing. It was a good thing they had been tucked behind a wall so the rest of the bar couldn’t see the pity party. “Secilia and I are the only two who made it out of high school and into college.”

“Secilia?” Chloe asked patiently.

“Only sister. My bad. Chloe, let me apologize to you. I’ve been an annoying douchebag since we met and now I’m on the verge of becoming a nervous wreck. The only reason I act this way, is because it fucking sucks to be sad. I don’t know how to talk about this shit. Nobody’s ever just known like you did. Nobody ever asks. I don’t want to see anybody sad. I want to see them smile, but sometimes I don’t think about how I’m working toward it. Maybe Aubrey’s right and I’m just an idiot who tries way too hard, but I promise it’s never to make people’s lives miserable.”

“I’ve never thought about that,” Chloe remarked candidly, studying his gaze. “You just want everyone to be happy, yet you’ve come close to giving me a headache with some of these shitlord-level jokes. I’d expect to read them while drunk browsing the net.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told that before,” he laughed. “I’m actually tamer in cyberspace.” To him, Chloe Price had broken the mold that he had imagined her in; she wasn’t just some rebel without a cause showing up with Max to tear up time and shit. This woman, who just let him pour his heart out, was someone who had experienced immeasurable pain. The emotional strength she carried was something to be jealous of.

“Here’s what I think you should do,” her hands found themselves calmly planted on his shoulders. “When you talk to your friends, cut to the chase. Say what you mean. Don’t sugarcoat shit, especially not with really bad humor. They’ll appreciate your honesty and sensitivity. That’s how you get people to smile.”

“I mean, that’s easy to say but how do you just do it? I’m not that blunt, or direct with my feelings. How do you do it?” He would gladly do it if he knew the secret, and dear God did he want an answer. He was tired of feeling this way, day after day. Always wondering whether he had pissed someone off, if that person he interacted with hated him, if he was even really friends with his friends.

“I am the worst person to ask that to. I’m usually angry,” she admitted, a brittle grin on her mug. “It’s gotten me in a lot of trouble over the years. I lost my father, my mother desperately remarried to a dick that made my life even more of a living hell. Max? We were childhood besties, but she moved away the day we buried my dad. Then,” whatever she wanted to say next, must have been too much for her to bare. She became quieter, her voice gravelly, “then, I lost Rachel. I had to deal with all of that fucking shit, on my own, until Max came back into my life. Sometimes, I still get pissed off thinking about all of it. But you know what? I have no problem telling you when I’m pissed, even if it’s undeserved. Max always worked through it with me, and I do the same for her.”

“Rachel Amber?” he recalled that name from the bunker, and there would never be a day he wouldn’t remember the way Aubrey broke down over that girl. Chloe had known her too, apparently, as she nodded in confirmation.

“Like Max, Rachel was my everything. Life sucks, and we all die. But there’s no reason you don’t thrash it up along the way.” She adjusted in her seating, looking more content than she had when he was crying. Chloe was ready to pay her tab and go, as her eyes darted from the wall to the space around the corner. “Thank you for telling me all of that. I get that I’m basically the last person you thought to hear it all. But, we’re in a bar, there’s beer. It’s almost perfect to drop things onto other people and you’re not nearly as annoying as you think you are.”

“I still don’t know how to bring it up with my family, or my friends,” he said, followed by a nonverbal motion he wasn’t entirely aware he was doing. Chloe must have taken it as a plea for her to stay, because she stopped adjusting and continued to listen. “Or how someone’s out there getting away with murder.”

“The longer you wait, the worse it will be. That boy loves you like a brother, and Aubrey’s understanding and patient. I totally see that she’s turned into a party-pooping introvert, though.” That brought a glimmer of happiness to his eyes, as Chloe yawned. “I don’t actually think your jokes suck. Just the timing, the application. If we’re gonna make shit jokes, at least wait until I’m on the floor ranting about booty and treasure. I’m an _intellectual_ , you must stimulate my brain.”

“I’ll show you stimulating,” he rose from his seat as she did the same. She made a sound of disgust to his reply, shaking her head.

“Gross! After all that therapy, you go and do that. You’re lucky Connor is easily entertained. He’s pretty loyal to you, thoughtful. Keep him safe.”

“Though, he’s kind of naive,” Hyram said, giving Chloe an indebted gaze for everything she had done for him tonight.

“We need more idealists in the world,” she told him. “People like him, they fix other people and places. It will be a better place when he figures it all out.”

“Do you consider yourself an idealist?” Hyram asked her.

“Hell no. I’m just here for a good time. Saving the world is Max’s part-time job.”

It was about that time to get back to the hotel room, at least for Hyram since the bar’s age-limit deadline was soon to hit. He wasn’t sticking around to find out if the bartender was willing to kick him out, and when he walked away from the chair the punk was a step or two behind him. It must have been her insurance policy, to guarantee he wasn’t going to drag his feet when it came to talking to his friends tonight. The hesitance that had built itself around the subject started to crumble and fall, with no small part due to her valiant effort to open him up, but he still had to dig for courage to go through it a second time. It would be easier twice around, hopefully.

On the way out of the bar, they spotted an unpleasant person entering; a person that shouldn’t have thrown him off so much when Hyram remembered that they were in Doppler as originally planned. The pep in his step gave the impression that this guy was high off of his ass. Both of his arms had tattoos, though only the right one had a messy sleeve. With black sport shoes, blue socks, beige pants and a jacket that looked far too heavy, “DJ Doom” staggered into a seat at the bar. Hyram would have recognized the fool anywhere, even as he motioned for a drink to the bartender. It was a relief to see him treated with the same suspicion that the cameraman experienced when he had walked through the door. The excitement of the past two days had nearly erased the fact that he remembered Aubrey had set up an interview with this guy for their special on Arcadia Bay. Needless to say, they were no longer working on their webseries, nor would they have needed him even if they still were. Max and Chloe were _actual_ survivors of the storm, in contrast to some eccentric disc jockey who had left the day before.

“Vegas bomb,” he demanded gruffly from the bartender, bringing uneasiness to the scene. He was clearly inebriated to begin with, a Vegas bomb might kill him. That particular mix usually included an energy drink, followed up with whatever the bartender on duty decided to poison you with. Together, these effects stimulated the same bump that cocaine gave. _I wish I didn’t know that so readily._

Deciding it was best to ignore that loose end and deal with it tomorrow, they exited the bar only for Hyram to immediately hear the voice of the devil shouting into a cell phone outside. He grabbed Chloe unsuspectingly, tossing her out of sight. If the violet warrior was about to hook him in the lip, she had the perfect opening for it. There, only a few yards away, was Ashton Barry, puffing on a cigarette with a phone glued to her head. There were few women spare for his mother that could strike fear into his mind, but the gun-touting woman from the Prescott Estate managed to outdo his mom. And she was right there, at their hideout. The circumstances could get worse, but not by much.

Chloe was indeed agitated, as she pushed him to the side with a stare that could have pierced his heart. “Don’t ever grab me again, okay?”

“Sorry. It’s a habit,” he told her, trying to get a feel for what Ashton was fighting over, or who she was fighting with.

“Bad habit to have around women,” Chloe started when he shushed her. He finally got her to peer out and comprehend why he had hidden them from sight. The short-haired blonde wasn’t as volatile as she had been at the Prescott Estate, but the sharpness in her voice was still there; perhaps, only suppressed by the fact that she was in civilization. _A wolf among sheep sounds about right._

“Obviously. It’s primarily been prediction-defying weather. Nothing as crazy as October 2013. Forgive me, I’ve been working through the nightmares. We’re working on locating the Oracle, trust me. Not exactly an easy task when they only give us two ground teams to work with and so little to go off of.” _So they’re looking for the Oracle too. Ground teams?_ He figured they weren’t alone, but that complaint almost made it sound like the operation was far smaller than he previously imagined. If this was a government venture, surely they could have had an army of agents to work with. If that wasn’t the case, then could they be working for a faction outside of the law?

“Huh, we’re on the Florida incident but that’s stretching our resources thin. Mhm, I _know_ Hell’s Kitchen is ripe for similar phenomenon, but until they give us more to work with, my focus is on the old man and the Oracle. God, they’re asking us for so much. I wish I could just take a vacation.” So they aren’t just looking for things in Arcadia Bay, and listening to detective batshit show genuine human emotion was so fucking weird. Hadn’t she threatened to kill them over a bunch of papers detailing some billionaire’s worst nightmare? He broke his glare, noticing that Chloe remained tense but had started writing on her arm with a sharpie he hadn’t known about previously. Leaning a little closer, she briefly regarded him as he read the contents scribbled. Chloe was taking down as much as she could remember about the woman’s conversation. _Hey, that’s pretty handy. I won’t complain._

 _“_ Oh? Mr. Wright is working hard. He always does, even when I’m having a bad time. Yes. Of course.” _Who the hell is Mr. Wright?_ “What, the three kids? I looked like a fool in front of him, and I probably petrified them. They didn’t feel like threats, but I couldn’t be so sure. Not after last time.” Hold up, Hyram thought, his brows furrowing. Was she _scared_ of them? Is _that_ what she was overcompensating for? Man, imagine if Connor had actually used his powers on her, then? He also connected that Dannel had to be Wright, leaving him guessing about the true name of the woman on the phone, not-Ashton. He wasn’t sure how useful any of the information would be, but if they were going to pass notes off to anyone it had to be Max. Although, it was fucking hilarious to think this gung-ho woman was scared shitless of Connor. Then again, why not pursue them relentlessly with a ton of G-men and military resources if she was this wrung up over him?

More troubling matters arose, as it struck him that they were still way, way in over their heads. Whoever she was talking to had mentioned three kids. More than just Mr. Wright and Not-Ashton knew who they were, which might as well have been the same thing as shattering his knees with a sledgehammer. This organization, for whatever plans they had, could identify him, Connor, and Aubrey. That meant they couldn’t run and hide forever. Was there even a point to it all if it meant their lives would be over? Even if they killed them—not something he would ever suggest—there would be others to take their place. Grunting as low as he could, Hyram was no longer enjoying the night.

“Of course. I’ll be on it. Prescott paperwork has been faxed. Take care, Kristine,” she stopped for a brief second, the vigor leaving her lips. She said something he hadn’t expected, in a completely different language. “Que les cieux vous guident.” Not-Ashton dropped the phone from her ear to her coat, taking in another large puff from her cigarette. Even from their hiding spot, he could see the strain in her cheeks and her forehead. The person she had been on the phone with was someone she was, at least, subservient to.

“We need to see Max, pronto.” Chloe declared, her eyes sharpened and her lips twisted into a frown. Hyram couldn’t have agreed more, for no matter what they did or where they went after tonight, they were in grave danger.


	11. Banality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My very first Chloe POV chapter. It was both exciting and frightening to write.
> 
> Revised 7/11/18

**Chapter 11: Banality**

 

It didn’t feel like an hour had passed since the booze, but when Chloe checked the digital clock at the bedside, it read 9:48PM. As the plot continued thickening, she couldn’t help but see the pointlessness of charging into the battle without the proper framework. From her point of view, they wouldn’t have said framework to roll with until they returned to purgatory—or as everyone else called it, Arcadia Bay—and if Detective Barry outside the bar had been a hint, their safe haven might be compromised already. At least her impromptu disguises for the faux bluenette, rasta punk, and John Smith were working suspiciously well. Chloe herself, along with Max and her beloved truck were also off the radar. They had no idea she or Max even existed. So long as they remained in the incognito, everyone would be okay. Security was a perk of having Max around to use her powers, but Chloe had to be the one to make sure Max was okay, too.

As it stood, Chloe was planted on one of the beds, twiddling her thumbs but keeping her ears on the current conversation between Max and their new comrades. It had started to get contentious, and Chloe couldn’t decide whether to intervene on Max’s behalf when the girl finally spoke up and voiced her opinion on the matter.

“If we’re getting to the bottom of things, then we need to figure out the ‘Oracle’ business,” Max made her case as Chloe spotted her narrowing brows. It wasn’t that the others didn’t support Max on the Oracle issue, but rather, they were skeptical due to the lack of leads to pursue.

“We don’t have the resources, or the time to figure it out,” Aubrey’s voice seemed to match Max’s in sincerity yet also urgency. “That’s way above our capabilities.” To Max, as far as Chloe discerned, Aubrey wasn’t on the same page with the discussion. Either that, or she was and intentionally veering off from it. The punk couldn’t tell, and just closed her eyes and exhaled the breath she had been saving for some time. She thought that the bluenette—also an amusing thought that for once, someone else had blue hair, instead of her—meant their lack of equipment, with an unhealthy lapse in proper information to go on. That was fair with all things considered, but she wasn’t giving Max enough credit. The girl she was arguing with could level buildings, if she put her head to it. If they needed something, Max could find a way to get it.

“I’m not saying we go back out there blind,” Max insisted, “we figure out exactly who the detectives are, who the old man is, and what Kristine and the others Prescotts have to do with it all. We’re still going to pick up your stuff back at Blackwell.”

“Blackhell,” Chloe muttered, nearly turning Aubrey and Hyram toward her bed. She would have burned that school down if given the chance. Unfortunately, mother nature or something else entirely robbed her of that satisfaction by sending the monster storm. Of course, that was a simplistic way to view the death of her hometown. Chloe didn’t actually know how she felt about the storm anymore. It had been far too long, and with no reason to think about it she had let the memories fade. There hadn’t yet been that long necessary talk regarding that whole week between her and Max, until this week when she found out they were going back. The worst of it, the part where she relived her demons, was yet to come. She anticipated that tomorrow would be the day where all of those unresolved feelings popped up at once.

“While we’re at that, could you walk me through your visions and how you got your powers? And I can show you exactly where it happened for me, a weird totem pole,” Connor expressed keenness to harness his atmokinesis. If Chloe knew her photographer, Max was about to correct him.

“Tobanga,” Max clarified almost musingly. Sure enough, Chloe did in fact know her little photographer perfectly. “I’m both surprised and happy that it survived.” Perhaps, it was out of necessity that Max deviated slightly in topic. It could have been a chance to turn the tension a notch down in the room. There were other ways, much easier ways Chloe could have managed to pull that off, but this was Max’s call. “But I’d like that yes. I’ve never really wondered what’s so special about Blackwell.”

“You mean you don’t know?” Hyram had been strangely reticent since they returned from the bar. She had picked up that he wasn’t fully behind Max yet. It was funny, since the punk had never pinged the guy for a skeptic. He seemed to be vaguely religious, had faith in his friends but it wasn’t the same with Max. He almost came off like he had doubts about their motives. She and Max technically _weren’t_ being totally honest, but it wasn’t anything evil. Max asked Chloe to make sure Hyram and Aubrey had the resolve to see this through, almost like loyalty missions, and Max pledged to do the same for Connor. Still, Hyram’s hesitation to trust Max on the important shit ticked Chloe off. There was nothing in the universe except Max Caulfield that could have brought her back to Oregon. _Nothing. I’m still shaking my fist at you over this, Max. But if it had to be done, I can’t fight that._ Besides, she was making the best out of the trip with what little cash and motivation she did have. The pool matches had been nice, Hyram was a decent if unpracticed player and better then the guy before him. She could do with slightly stronger beer next time, and there wasn’t a plug in sight to satisfy her toke urge. Aside from these relatively insignificant complaints, she was there as a soldier dedicated to the mission, but she couldn’t yet speak for two of their three new acquaintances.

“No. It was a nightmare about the storm, and then I woke up in the middle of photography class. Right afterwards, I saw Chloe get shot by Nathan Prescott, and then I woke back up in class as if nothing had changed. I rushed back to the bathroom, and everything played out the same except that I saved her,” Max looked over to Chloe, noticing the joy that wrapped around her face as she spoke. “I never thought about how I got these powers. A few times, I thought about why.”

“Hold on,” Aubrey’s jaw dropped. “That little prick tried to shoot you?”

“He did fuckall more than that,” Chloe interjected fast. “God, I need a fucking list for that. You just knew about the shit with Mr. Pretentious Camera teacher, right? Nathan was nutso long before he met Jefferson.” Chloe was angry just talking about Nathan. This was putting it mildly, how much bad shit Nathan had done to the people at school.

“I had sympathy for Nathan once upon a time, but then he grabbed me by the neck in the parking lot. Fuck him,” Max said without hesitation.

“Max could bring the world to it’s knees, if she wanted to,” Chloe sat up, a restrained chuckle on the cusp of release. “Max, let me tell them.”

“Tell them what?” Max asked her curiously.

“Tell them everything that we accomplished?” Chloe raised her voice, though her own joyful demeanor disappeared as Max lowered her head. Connor’s gaze as well as Hyram’s followed from Max to Chloe, their knowledge of the true events that plagued Arcadia Bay short. “Max, we did all we could.”

“I got Jefferson arrested,” Max spoke with drawn breath. “And I saved you. That’s all.” The mention of multiple timelines was still a new concept for the other three, that there were millions, possibly even an infinite number of timelines which they existed in. Right after the big day in 2013, Max had grappled with memory loss and compartmentalization. Even as Chloe had driven them away towards Portland. Once the truck broke down in Blakeslee Junction, Max had no idea what reality she was in, and Chloe had to hold her and reassure her she was alive and everything would be okay. Not only did Chloe _hate_ that she could never understand the loss Max had felt, but she hated Max’s pain most of all. Not a person in the world, in _any_ timeline, should have had to deal with the shit that her girlfriend went through. Chloe scooted off the bed, and while having to kneel down and brush past Connor and Aubrey, took her girlfriend by the hand and leaned her against her shoulder.

“No one said you had to do everything,” Chloe soothed, ensuring that her brunette did not go into any panicky episode as she sometimes did when the subject came up. “You did the best you could.” Chloe could feel Max relax her torso and give in to the affection, grabbing the punk and giving her a soft squeeze. “By the way Max, we’re being hella gay right now.”

“Not as gay as Mr. Jones here, though,” Connor poked at Hyram, who’s eyes should have been stuck facing the wrong direction from how much he had rolled them. “With all the chemicals in the water.” Chloe still wasn’t sure about Connor, or his importance in the end of it all. Honestly, it was all on the brunette when it came to Connor. She was the one with the plan, and Max had a very good idea who Connor was and what role he had to play in the future. _Or past, or, whatever._

Max was still, despite the obvious truth that she came to save them, keeping some things to herself such as the three year time jump, which only came out after she had told Connor in private. Oh, yeah. Max hadn’t spoken a word of that on the way up there. It rubbed Chloe in a way she didn’t feel the need to express without being a total bitch. Chloe _could_ deal with it to an extent but eventually she would force the girl to talk about it. Max had spent three years with a Chloe, had built memories with her, in an entirely different, future timeline. It hadn’t even technically been Chloe she had spent the time with, it had just been another Chloe from another life. In a way, she was another Max, too. It was an overwhelming fact for the punk, and one that had to be dealt with sooner or later.

Max’s powers indeed had a dark side to them, which was the biggest reason why she never used them until now. Max had “woken up” right after a selfie, about a week ago, telling her they needed to prepare for a trip. After that, here they were. It was not inherently their problem to correct every little mistake, but then again, S _ince the world was ending it was a big deal_. She knew Max was thinking about the big picture rather than only herself or Chloe here, and the violet woman worried Max might hurt herself by accident.

The tender embrace also reminded Chloe that they hadn’t had any private time to themselves for quite some time, with the busy work schedule and doomsday prepping. Even when they had ducked out earlier in the day, it had been a smoke break. But those thoughts had to be put on the back burner, as Max and Chloe had agreed to work out any difficulties that could arise with their new friends. If it meant strategic therapy, she’d keep doing it.

“This job isn’t going to be easy. I’m asking you to follow us back to the old man’s lair, potentially get shot at again. We definitely need to consider all the possibilities, all the things that could happen.” Max had recovered from whatever vivid memory she had been stricken with, and Chloe released her and returned to the bed, once more feeling complacent.

“Wait,” Hyram interrupted. “Are the rest of you getting paid for this? Because she just called this a job”.

“Oh, fuck. Cat’s outta the bag, guys,” Chloe remarked, placing her hands behind her head as she vied to get comfortable on the mattress. Hyram was a good guy, he didn’t mean to—no, scratch that. He knew that he could be an asshole, but had trouble knowing when to quit. It was his life and ultimately Chloe had no business influencing it. Yet, he had come to her, and Max wanted her to get them ready for the final day, so she had managed to help him out without a guilty conscience. She hadn’t expected the emotional baggage from someone who pretended to be bullish and optimistic, but she knew better than anyone else in the room what he was feeling on the inside.

“I was thinking of another idea,” Max said, the look on her face telling Chloe she was about to propose something very helpful. Chloe let out a murmur that came close to encouragement, tilting her head down so she could give Max her full attention. The others in the room, though uncertain of what she was going to propose, did the same in their own ways. “With Dannel and Barry nearby, it gives us a golden opportunity to steal some of their secrets.”

“That’s dangerous,” Connor replied. “How would you pull it off?” As if he even needed to ask, Max shrugged her arms in a way that conveyed the simple fact, _she’s a mother fucking time traveler, numskull._

“It will be fine,” Max promised him. “If I can lift their keys, we could get into their car and see what they have stowed away. If we find them, I can eavesdrop, join in the conversation. Rewind, if I have to.”

“Let’s hope our timeline is the correct one, then,” Aubrey solemnly said. Now that was a thought Chloe hadn’t had to worry about in a long time. Hopefully for them, Max’s return meant it would be absolutely fine.

“Well for starters, Max and I have the element of surprise. You three, the costumes are great _,_ but they’ll know your faces if they see you up close. We’ll find your shit, probably smash in _Oldhouser_ ’s face a few times, and then get the hell outta Dodge.” Chloe could tell that Aubrey was less than enthusiastic about the idea, evidenced by the way she held her elbows close and stared off at the curtained window.

“I’m going to need a lot of convincing to go anywhere near that man again,” Aubrey said.

“Hey,” Chloe began, “I said the same thing, yet here I am. Soon to see the resting site of hundreds of people that I once knew. Once tomorrow’s done with, we won’t have to worry about it anymore.” There was hardly sentiment to her statement; they would likely be treading over the place where her mother, Joyce, had somewhere died. Frank Bowers, Warren Graham, Kate Marsh, even her awful stepfather had all met an untimely fate that day. Because she loved Max and wanted to ensure everyone would live, Chloe had to face the depressing reality that she’d be driving past the Two Whales Diner, and so many other places that held value to those people. They might also hold value in her heart, deep down underneath all the shit she used to bury it.

“We at least need some self defense this time, and not Connor’s tiny pocket knife,” Hyram asserted, drawing an offended look from Connor over the size of his knife. _Oh, there’s a joke probably brewing in his head right now about comparing sizes. Heads he makes it, tails he doesn’t._ Chloe decided that it was a better chance than any to tell them about her own personal defense.

“I’ve got a piece in the truck,” she informed them to mixed bewilderment. She had, of all people to thank, David for her interest in guns. Had her stepdouche not kept so many around, she would have never learned about them. Aubrey was visibly taken out of her element with wild eyes, but only for a moment. Clearly, she’d been shocked but wasn’t very surprised at all. _I mean come on, I’m Chloe Price. What if I told her about the knife in my boot?_ Hyram, on the other hand, was mouthing a word she assumed was something along the lines of ‘nice’. Meanwhile, Connor didn’t necessarily react, sitting perfectly still and kind of just _there_. In fact, the boy was merely neutral that she was armed, merely nodding along. _Of course you aren’t impressed. Not all of us have a lightsaber built into our hand like you._

It was at that moment when she realized, staring at Connor and Hyram, that they were incredibly easy to be around which was new for Chloe. She could actually let her guard down around these two. For quite some time after her father’s death, Chloe had grappled with an unhealthy distrust of just about everyone spare Rachel and Max. She no longer had that issue, but the punk still hadn’t made many friends since she left her home town. These two would mark the first that she didn’t feel skeptical of—even if Connor could blow her up if she made him mad.

With the alcohol wearing off, Chloe checked the clock next to the bed and saw that it was now ten o’clock sharp. Max was still throwing her hands around in gestures, with no solid idea of how to tackle tomorrow in stone yet. Chloe was upright, her feet touching the floor looking for her boots before Max noticed and broke her explanation.

“Going somewhere?” Max stared curiously at her.

“Uhuh. We need more beer, and there’s a gas station down the street.” Chloe informed her, lacing up her boots. “I think we can scrounge up enough for a twelve-pack.”

“I see you’re a woman with expensive habits,” Aubrey remarked, earning herself a death glare from the punk. Chloe stood up, grabbing the room key and moved towards the door. _Every party needs a pooper, and that’s why they invited you._

“You’re lucky all the foliage kept them from seeing your truck,” Connor mentioned their dramatic rescue, which he was completely correct on. They were fortunate to be off the grid, relatively speaking. It gave her room to be herself, rather than play secret agent.

“Expensive isn’t what I’m bringing back,” Chloe warned the girl casually. “I’ll be back in twenty. If you guys actually come up with a plan by then, text me.”

And so she left the room for the second time of the night. The gas station was about a ten minute’s walk, but she could get there in less than half that time by truck. Taking one of the hotel’s alternate exits rather than the lobby, Chloe exited the brightly-lit interior to the darker parking lot. She couldn’t help but crack a grin at the fixer-upper parked five spaces away, its faded brown paint job and slightly rusted frame giving it a personality of its own. In all its glory, with all the stickers, vinyl decal, even the bobble head, the truck was her most prized possession besides Max. There wasn’t a day when Chloe couldn’t look at her pickup truck and imagine what it would be like with a fresh coat of paint, but it had already been through as much shit with her as Rachel and Max combined. For all intents and purposes, that truck was the only part of Arcadia Bay that she still held onto. _Well, that’s certainly dishonest._

Twirling the keys out of her pocket, she connected them with the lock on the door and pulled it open. Inside, the their new friends’ clothes were in a jumbled mess tucked underneath the passenger seat along with miscellaneous items. It had been a while since she took inventory inside of the truck, but she was certain Max had stuffed first aid bag down there, too. _Max had at least a week to plan for this, didn’t she? Three years might be pushing it._

Chloe climbed in and sank into her seat, doing a mental check to ensure she wasn’t about to drive intoxicated. With the realization that the booze had worn off coupled with the hasty decision to acquire more, she just had to be sure she wasn’t feeding a habit. Noting she felt fine, other than a scratchy, thirsty throat, Chloe started up her truck and closed the door. It gave her the usual sputter, what she thought was a personality quirk, and the radio kicked on. For some reason, the light indie tune sounded like something Max would listen to. The punk thought about all the time she and Max had spent in the truck, even when it broke down on the side of the road right after the storm. Chloe had gotten so bored that she ended up scribbling out a lot of the graffiti inside of the truck cabin. Phrases such as “You’re about to die” no longer felt appropriate and had been a constant reminder to her.

“Enough daydreaming.” She spoke to herself, pulling out of the parking lot and headed towards the road. Even on the drive over, she contemplated whether this was even a wise choice. Should they be back at Arcadia Bay right now rather than tomorrow? They still weren’t clear on what was going to happen, but did they truly have time to dawdle on things like this? Oh god, her mother was the only person Chloe had ever heard say the word “dawdle”. She wished she could have been nicer to her mother, at least one last time before everything went down.

“Exactly why I need more beer,” as if she really needed an excuse for more bad choices. She pulled into the station, noting the outrageous gas price on the sign. Chloe felt a lack of focus as she left the truck, walked through the dimly lit convenience store and directly towards the beverage aisle. She wasn’t surprised by the lack of options in front of her, having to choose between sweet piss or bitter piss with the only variety existing as six, twelve or eighteen packs. _Well, I don’t know who else is drinking so time for more cheap beer._

The cashier, a woman too busy with her phone to bother asking for identification, rang Chloe up and accepted the cash without a hitch. The violet-haired punk hauled the twelve-pack out to the truck, gently tossing it into the bed but reconsidering upon further thought. The beer eventually settled on the floor of the passenger’s side, before she turned the keys in the ignition and set off back to their hideout. Sometimes, Chloe forgot about the state that her truck had been in when she repaired it, even having replaced the ignition switch at a later date to accommodate a new key. Rachel had certainly helped out, and Chloe managed to teach her numerous things about vehicle maintenance. Even Max, at this point, could do a thorough inspection on any vehicle. Chloe was still working with her with the hands-on portion of training, especially after Max had left the gas cap open once. Funny, that would have been the perfect time for a rewind and she was still too scared to try it. _That just goes to show how serious Max is about this business here._

On the drive back, the girl realized that Doppler was one of many towns that she had never seen when living in Arcadia Bay. It was also one town that she would probably never see again, but despite this, it reminded her of an in-tact version of her old home. It didn’t do anything for her emotionally, existing more as an observation than anything. It had some serious differences as well; Doppler was a town uncorrupted by the big world, by mega corporations or shady politicians. It was still hickville, but at least it was left alone unlike her birthplace.

Turning back into the hotel parking lot, she managed to find the parking space closest to their two units open. With available parking space working out perfectly, she slid the truck in and put it in park shortly after. Still thinking about their new acquaintances, Chloe turned off the truck and removed her keys. As she opened the driver’s door and reached over to grab the beer, she noticed then that Connor had been sitting outside of their room on the sidewalk. The boy waved at her with an innocent glare, and she saw a sort of untested naiveté to the young man as he pushed himself up from the ground. It was a perception that Chloe had gotten from Max once upon a time. That was no longer an issue, and with her photographer guiding the boy, she sure hoped that Max knew what she was doing.

“I was wondering when you’d get back,” he greeted, the smile being expressed obviously one of rehearsed manners. She didn’t doubt he was sincere, but the fatigued movement and droopy eyes suggested that he was tired from whatever conversation was going on inside.

“You’re supposed to be incognito. Does that mean there’s no plan yet?” Chloe wanted to verify whether they were ready to clue her in on any new ideas. As she was expecting, he shook his head in confirmation that they hadn’t finalized a thing. “Shucks. Well, maybe we’ll all calm down with some of these. Get ‘em while they’re cold.”

“I will when I come back in,” he assured her, but she could tell he wasn’t done with her yet. She stopped in place, waiting for Connor to say what he wanted to say. Instead, he seemed to prepare himself, giving Chloe a slight anxiety boost.

“You wouldn’t happen to know a Rebekah Leonardson, would you?” The question turned out fairly innocent, but Chloe tightened her grip on the beer box. It seemed that she would never get used to talking to new people.

“No. Should I know them?” Trying as hard as she could, Chloe could not recall anybody by that name. “Why?”

“The old woman that took us in this morning,” he explained. “She seemed to know your mom and dad well.”

“You guys talked about my family?” Chloe’s chest tightened up and if she was at all trying to appear calm, Connor’s sudden apologetic overture was troubling. With both of his hands raised with an uncomfortable face, he was cut short by her. “I’m not angry. Sorry. Nobody ever said anything good about me, or my mom.”

“No way, she loved Joyce,” he promised. “She loved William too, but it sounded like she was actually friends with them.” It was startling to imagine complete strangers bringing up you plus your family, but even more on a day where you met said stranger for the first time. Chloe nodded, remembering that although it was cool outside, the beer wouldn’t stay that way unless they were placed in the refrigerator.

“You gotta tell me more once I pop one open,” Chloe said. “Why are you out here, anyway?”

“Pretending I’m still a normal kid,” he told her. “Calling my family, lying to them about the trip.” If there was anything Chloe could relate to with Connor, it was lying to her authority figures.

“Kudos,” she said encouragingly, opening the door. “See you on the other side.” As she entered through the backdoor of Aubrey’s room, Connor shot her a thankful glance and raised his phone to his ear. Chloe couldn’t remember the last time she had actually called somebody, preferring to hermit over texting rather than speak to people. Only Max could get that out of her.

Inside the hotel room, she found nothing waiting for her except for messy beds and empty pizza boxes. The bedside lamps were still active, but Max and the others had somehow room-hopped. Chloe walked from the back to the front of the room, dumbfounded as to why they’d even do it in the first place.

“Okay,” she drawled, still unsure what the point was. “I guess the party’s in my room now?” She slowly moved her feet to the front door when behind the bathroom door she heard a sneeze. Wondering who had heard her, Chloe considered for a second if she should knock when the dour sobbing from Aubrey became evident. _Shit, what’s going on? It’s been ten minutes, what could have possibly happened?_

She had already set down the twelve-pack and, knocking on the door, Chloe felt compelled to check up on the crying girl. “Aubrey, you okay?”

“No,” Aubrey coughed. It might have been years since Chloe’s friend-instincts kicked in, but she could never forget what to do in a situation that required them. Even if Chloe was having a bad day, she couldn’t stop herself from helping others as long as they didn’t treat her like shit.

“You can always explain to me, even if I’m not the best shoulder to cry on,” she said, feeling sympathy for the girl but still shy of understanding what could have driven her to sob in the bathroom.

“It’s fine,” Aubrey ostensibly lied. “Everything is fine.”

“Why don’t you come out here when you’re ready? I won’t be going anywhere,” Chloe promised, sitting on the edge of the bed closest to the bathroom. She ran her fingers through her bangs. Her style was lacking without the skullcap she’d taken a liking to since LA, but it did help Hyram’s eccentric outfit blend together perfectly. She eyed the beer box, disappointed that by the time they would be given the proper care they wouldn’t be ice cold. A minute and a half passed before the bathroom door flew open and the faux bluenette stormed out. She regarded Chloe briefly as she marched towards the back end of the hotel room and sat on the other bed, facing the wall.

Chloe wasn’t sure how to proceed with Aubrey. The chemistry and the opportune moments she had captured with Hyram were nothing to compare to the distress displayed here. They might have attended the same elementary school but Chloe never knew her that well, and still had no idea what her personality was like. Inferences had been made based on the way she interacted with Connor and Hyram, but beyond that, Chloe would be figuring this out as it happened. The girl across from her was still steaming from something, and just as Chloe was going to ask again if she was okay, Aubrey beat her to it.

“Nothing’s wrong but me. Always me. Don’t worry about it, Chloe,” she said with dispassion, a sure sign that Chloe needed to worry.

“It’s been a long time, but I think you know me better than that,” Chloe said, getting off the bed and gradually approaching Aubrey while studying her body posture. She was still giving Chloe the cold shoulder, emotionless responses, but kept her arms and legs tucked in close to her body. The girl’s cell phone was pressed against her thigh, as Aubrey inhaled and exhaled rather visibly.

Within seconds, Aubrey tossed her cell at the white patterned wall. “Fucking asshole!”

 _Okay, Aubrey might be like me when she’s mad. I can work with this._ Giving the girl space, Chloe allowed herself to rest against the wall closest to the television and dresser. She could now see the tight-lipped frown, the jutting chin and the puffy red eyes Aubrey had. There was genuine anger, frustration, and misunderstanding going on.

“Who’s the fucking asshole?” Chloe asked her, giving the girl as much she could in the way of candor.

“He broke things off. After holding it over my head for weeks, I got dumped,” Aubrey breathed a pained sigh. “All because I stood up for myself.”

“I didn’t even know you had someone, but my impression of him is somewhere between Roy Batty and Darth Vader.” If the boy was nasty enough to make someone as headstrong as Aubrey revert to a crying mess, then he was garbage enough to go on Chloe’s shitlist. The idea that Aubrey would even subject herself to that sort of humiliation was unbelievable. Still, this wasn’t gonna turn into a bash session. This guy came off as sleazy, but she would keep further comments to herself. Chloe didn’t hesitate to sit down beside Aubrey, but found it difficult upon noting the girl needed comfort. Slowly, Chloe brought her hand up to pat Aubrey on her shoulders. The action was strange, as Chloe hadn’t given affection to anybody beyond Max in what felt like years, but the poor girl was no longer acting smashy and that was room enough to try. _I don’t even have friends beyond Max, how do I keep doing this tonight?_

“Why don’t you um, go on about it?” Chloe coaxed her.

“He doesn’t know what’s happening on this trip. I’ve kept him in the dark, but he’s had enough of that. I told him he doesn’t have a right to know where I am, what I’m doing, what I’m thinking or who I’m talking to at all times. I’m so tired of his bullshit, it’s even _worse_ than my fucking parents, who forced me to attend Church or go to hell for ten years of my life. I love him, but I hate the shit out of him at the same time. He can do the greatest, most wonderful things for me but he can also be a stupid, chauvinist selfish prick.”

“Sounds like a prick, alright,” Chloe squeezed her shoulder, undertaking an effort to get the girl to lighten up a bit. “How long were you two together?”

“It’s been over a year. At first, I was strong about it, didn’t let him walk all over me, but damn it. He charmed his way in deep, and now I’m the one who’s stupid and heartbroken. My parents love him, everyone sees the side that he wants them to see. Nobody gets to see the stressful side of it. I don’t know what I can do to make it up. I don’t know if I can fix this at all.”

 _Why fix it?_ Chloe wanted to ask, but knew better than that. She instead continued studying Aubrey’s quivering lip inside the tight frown and her refusal to meet Chloe’s eyes. _I take it back_ , Chloe thought. She was definitely not the kind of angry that Chloe was, but tender support must have been working because she was speaking clearly without choking on her own words.

“Am, I interrupting something?” a mildly confused Hyram wondered as he opened the backdoor to their room. He first looked to Chloe, likely intending to gain a grasp of the situation from her. Chloe was disappointed with him, hoping he would have known better than she did that Aubrey needed him around. But then again, Hyram wasn’t always the most perceptive. She figured out after the pool match that he spent way too much time worrying about other people and doing nothing about it. Right now was a time to act over thinking, and he finally caught the message and plopped down on the other side of her. Chloe retracted her arm to just cupping the top of Aubrey’s nearest shoulder, hoping it was still okay for her to be crowded this way. Hyram took care of her left side, telling her he was there and the others would be over eventually.

“What happened?” he asked, first to Aubrey, then moved his inquisitive gaze to Chloe.

“Jack dumped me” Aubrey bluntly stated, as Chloe watched the curiosity flush from Hyram’s face and a storm of pity take hold in its place. There was something on the tip of his tongue, a word or comment he really wanted to say and it definitely wasn’t a poorly-timed joke. Chloe found herself gravitating closer, bending her arm as she leaned back to encourage him to tell her.

Hyram’s eyes slid shut and he shook his head negatively multiple times. “He’s a cockstain.”

“How bad is this guy?” queried the punk, her own teeth gritting at the repulsion Aubrey had from hearing Hyram utter the words. Aubrey shook them off, turning completely towards her friend and shooting him a look Chloe couldn’t see from her angle on the bed. Judging from Hyram’s own reaction, she was testing him, seeing if he would say something else she didn’t like.

“Please don’t.” Aubrey whispered, and Chloe saw that Hyram was fighting back the urge to pacify himself rather than speak honestly about her ex-boyfriend.

“How about, you tell Chloe the truth,” Hyram demanded acutely, his voice growing louder the longer he spoke. “Since the start of the trip, you’ve done nothing but defend this mother fucker for every instance he put you down. You come down on me and Connor whenever we fuck up, but with him it’s always your fault before his.”

“I love him,” Aubrey defended. “I can’t help but try to work out our problems.”

“When the solution involves bowing down and kissing his ass anytime he gets mad? You have done more for that asshole than his own parents, and he still doesn’t value you the way you deserve. That’s not like you, and I’m tired of watching you go through this.”

“Hold the fucking phone,” Chloe put out a hand to stop both of them. Something had touched a nerve in her, something very, very disgusting. “Is this true, Aubrey? You’re scared to fight back against a man who uses abuse to satisfy his own insecurity?”

“I don’t know, I… maybe,” she vacillated, prompting Chloe to get back on her feet. If Aubrey was going through that, then she had to talk about this in detail. _I will shut that shit down, no exceptions._

“How about this,” Chloe offered her. “You tell us everything you’re feeling, and then I’ll forget your critique of my taste in beer and share with you.” Her ploy was obviously working as the girl’s visage changed tremendously, as if she were standing before the garden of Eden and Chloe had just tempted her with an apple.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Hyram said, stepping between them and starting a very unwise confrontation with Chloe. If he was going to cramp her style, then he better have a counter proposal because she was ten seconds away from _finally_ speaking her mind about him.

“And why’s that?” Chloe said, folding her arms and raising her chin towards him. Despite the slight difference in height, she pegged him early on as someone who found her menacing to a degree. It was time to cash in on that. “Cause from where I sit, you haven’t exactly been the most considerate, either.” Temporarily facing Aubrey, she further specified, “This is only if you _want_ a beer.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” he sharply quizzed her. “I’d do anything for Aubrey.”

“Would you let her speak on her own behalf? You’re doing better than cockstain, that isn’t hard to do, but not by as much as you think,” she watched the dauntless Hyram shrink a few sizes in confidence.

“That isn’t fair,” he said, nearly shouting. “I’m nothing like Jack.”

“That’s always the biggest justification, huh? That you aren’t like the other one? Have you ever sat down and wondered _why_ he can utterly destroy her but you don’t?” She interrogated him, putting some distance between them. “Because you don’t fucking get it. You have no idea what you’re doing. She can jump on you because you learn, and most of the time you listen. This asshole, on the other hand?” Chloe broke her glare from Hyram to regard Aubrey, emotionless and silent watching the fight. “If it’s what I think it I, Jack knows _exactly_ what he’s doing.” The bluenette had changed once Chloe said that, uncomfortable at the sight of the fight. Hell, this wouldn’t have been so bad if Chloe hadn’t gotten the vibe that Aubrey was being used as a doormat. She couldn’t stand seeing that happen to other people, not after having gone through it when she was young.

“So where does that leave me?” Hyram entreated, the pain behind his voice suggesting Chloe had just stabbed him with some degree of truth.

“Cut the shit, that’s all. Stop with this harmless idiot routine and be the friend she needs,” Chloe finished, her message delivered clearly to the man in front of her. “So, I’m sorry for blowing up, Hyram, and I’m sorry Aubrey, but it’s beer time.” At that moment, only regretted telling the truth _before_ she was drunk. Hyram had a serious lack of self-awareness and she did her best to try and let him deal with it on his own, but after listening to yet another women degrade herself over the behavior of an abusive partner, then to speak in place of her? That was unacceptable and if he couldn’t see that, he sure as fuck saw it now.

“Now, forgive me, but the beer isn’t as cold as you’d like,” Chloe admitted, taking out two cans and tossing them toward the farthest bed. Both landed safely next to Aubrey, who was eyeing them like a child in front of a candy machine. Eventually, the punk sauntered back over to the bed and returned to her spot, still warm from her previous time. Hyram had not moved from his position, either brooding or reflecting on something that Chloe hoped was progress. When the other woman in the room reached for the beer on the bed, Chloe intervened.

“I want one,” Aubrey told her fast and decisively.

“Okay, three coming right up. Wish you told me while I was over there,” complained Chloe as she returned to the twelve-pack and retrieved a can for Aubrey. On the walk back to the bed, Chloe cracked one open and took a careful swig. It was refreshing despite the burning sensation it left on her tongue, and she found herself dipping her head back to take in enough to keep the discussion going. “I hope you two know that after two of these, I’m gonna be a lot harder on you.” The warning left Hyram, who had reluctantly sat down on the floor and lowered his head, with a curled lip. All in all, Chloe was more disappointed that he hadn’t fought back a little more, but it was over. Aubrey snatched up one of the untouched cans and pulled back the tab, cracking it open. Chloe was then caught completely by surprise as Aubrey attempted to chug it and began coughing as the foam sprayed everywhere on her, onto the floor and bed.

“Ho—ly shit,” Chloe laughed. “Aubrey, that’s alcohol abuse.”

“I tried to tell you,” Hyram mumbled. “She was straight edge until you came along.” _Oh. Scratch one more off the list of people I’ve corrupted._ Aubrey nevertheless returned to chugging it before clutching her stomach and coughing. Chloe wanted to help her but was too amused to step in, waiting for the bluenette to recover on her own.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Chloe watched her stare back with uncertainty, wiping the foam from her lips.

“It tastes like cat piss,” Aubrey replied, dropping the empty can onto the floor. “Give me another.”

Hyram furrowed his brows, his posture stiffening as she asked for a second can. “Jesus Christ, Aubrey.”

“Yeah, I think we should see how your stomach feels first,” Chloe chuckled, her arms swaying as she spoke. If the girl was gonna act like this, then the punk might have made a mistake enabling a soon-to-be alcoholic.

“Fuck it,” Hyram extended his arm. “Pass me that other one.”

Chloe looked down at the can, the moisture accruing on the bed underneath it. The punk picked it up and, while handing it off to Hyram, denied him last minute. “Say the magic word.”

“Sorry,” he said earnestly, slouching against the wall. “Please.”

“Sorry, that’s the one! Make sure your next one’s to her.” Chloe passed the beer into his hands firmly. She eyed the girl next to her, who had laid back on the bed and rested the top of her hand on her forehead. _Don’t have second thoughts now. You’re about to have the best intoxication that you’ll never be able to get back._

“We’ll get to that, okay? Let me just let loose first,” he requested, popping the tab and sipping the beer gauchely. Chloe, ready for her next sip, indulged as the fond thought of water bottles came to mind. Hopefully room service included grabbing some from the tiny little kitchen outside the lobby.

“Hah. Next beer we drink, we’re all shotgunning it in the bathtub,” Chloe told them as they all started to unwind.

Chloe’s beer had turned into five, which wouldn’t have been a problem except for how fast she had gotten them down. Indeed, shotgunning their second cans had been a terrific idea in the moment, but as soon as she started having trouble standing and her vision fogged briefly, Captain Bluebeard was going down with her ship. The last time she had actually gotten _this_ drunk was the summer after meeting Rachel, and it had taken her at least seven. _Seven that I remember._ Hyram was in a similar state, but he preferred to remain grounded rather than stagger around. Now Aubrey, she was definitely a fucking first-timer. The punk had worried for a while that she might have to sober herself up to deal with the recently converted teetotaler’s stupid behavior. Chloe and Hyram had already stopped her from leaving the room twice, and she was incapable of lowering her voice to a reasonable level. This was all from four beers, and if Chloe had just started to feel good by two, Aubrey had to be fucking _spinning._

“Hey guys,” Chloe said in her inebriated stupor. Aubrey managed to turn her head and listen, though her half-conscious stare did little to reinforce the idea that she was coherent. Hyram couldn’t stop laughing at how badly Aubrey’s first time was affecting her, covering his face with his hands. “I think Aubrey needs a new nickname after tonight. What do you think of candy ass?”

“Wow, that’s so Hyram,” the boy replied a little too loudly.

“What the hell is an ass made of candy got to do with me?” Aubrey questioned, her posture hanging just over the edge of the bed. Then, in an extremely delayed reaction, she began to purr. Chloe almost felt like a bad person for getting her this white girl wasted, but she was no longer crying over her ex. Chloe was all but prepared for the bluenette to break down in an ugly drunken sob about it, and Chloe almost thought she would prefer that to the way she was carrying on right now. At least _then_ , Chloe would have some idea on how to handle her.

“The only candy ass is you,” Hyram accused, pointing to Chloe. “Only a candy ass would get this lite beer shit. So in other words,” he slurred, rolling his head from one shoulder to the other. Aubrey’s purring continued, as she fell off of the bed and onto the floor. _Good lord, if only the others were here to see this shit._ “Jack is a candy ass.” _Yes, that’s logical conversation flow right there. Neither one of these babies knows how to handle their beer._

“The last thing the police need is another guy like Jack,” Chloe said boldly, with Aubrey giggling incessantly. “Is his penis bigger or smaller than the standard badge? Can you confirm, candy ass?”

“Stop saying candy ass,” Aubrey pleaded, holding her side on the floor between the dresser and the bed. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“Remember when Connor busted his ass over the Wizard of Oz crap last night?” Hyram randomly asked, leaving Chloe in the dark. “He fell to the ground laughing, like you! And he was completely sober!” Aubrey let out an indecipherable noise, but was clearly in her own little intoxicated world.

“Okay, _okay_ ,” Chloe groaned, the prospect of having to take care of paralytic girl weakening her own intoxication. “Aubrey, there is no way that you’re this fucked up.”

“Am I being an idiot?” She asked depressingly, as if she were being talked down to. “I can tighten up.”

“Yee _eeaaaah_ , you are,” Chloe chuckled again. “I think you can do it. You better not get back together with this douche, though. I’ll kick your ass.”

“I am no longer able to do the thing,” Aubrey said, and Chloe wasn’t sure what the fuck she meant. “That thing you just said.”

“Do _not_ give her the last beer,” Hyram demanded, forbidding the punk from divulging the location of the final, now warm beer can hidden somewhere in the room. She hadn’t intended on hiding it, but the box was torn up and a pile of crushed cans next to the bed were the only traces left after Aubrey got her hands on them. Chloe was slightly ashamed to think about how fast she gulped down her last beer just to save it from Aubrey’s self-destructive experimentation. In retrospect, it was still worth it to watch the chaos unfold, but Chloe definitely wanted to avoid drunking Aubrey up in the future until she had more experience with alcohol.

Making do on her promise, Aubrey lifted herself up and returned to the messy sheets on the bed. She stuck her tongue out, and although the girl couldn’t sit entirely still, she was grinning. “Thanks for putting up with my ass, Chloe. I appreciate it.”

“What, no thanks for me?” Hyram questioned, markedly working on his own drunken behavior from the way he had sat up straight and spoke more clearly.

“This is what it feels like to put up with you,” Aubrey quipped. “Like, every day.”

“Putting up with your candy ass is easy, don’t mention it,” Chloe told her, satisfied that Aubrey no longer acted incapacitated. It had been a great night, even in the company of a converted prohibitionist and a complicated wiseguy. She peered across the room, noting that the clock now read close to eleven sharp. Connor had never returned, and neither had Max. they were spending an awful lot of time next door. “You know we didn’t save much for the others.”

“Connor doesn’t drink often,” Hyram revealed, which Chloe found frankly surprising. Connor was a mystery to her still, as he wasn’t quite as expressive as his friends. She had pegged him for someone who didn’t party, but would totally succumb to it if he was ever exposed to the party scene. Unlike Connor or Hyram, the wasted girl on the bed was not cut out for clubbing and should avoid it at all costs. Hyram rested his cheek against his palm, as if contemplating. “Doubt he would have joined in. Is Max an alcoholic in training?”

“Oh, I’ve tried hard to corrupt her,” Chloe explained. “Try as I might, she’ll never be as evil as I am.” True as this was, Max was not _evil_ per se in her clandestine mannerisms, but certainly ambiguous about her aim sometimes. Before Chloe dragged her drunk ass to bed, she was going to sit down and talk about those mannerisms with her. She heard someone’s phone sound off, and snapped her focus toward Aubrey. The girl was still in her own lala land, though behaving and thus failing to notice her phone. Chloe hoped, she begged for the sender to be her ex-boyfriend. Eventually, Aubrey found her phone and instantly dropped it. With one look, Chloe knew she was right and she had to act before they found out what the blunette’s widening glower was from.

“What did I tell you?” Chloe exclaimed. “Fucker’s trying to jerk you around?”

“He’s apologizing,” she answered with brevity. “Wants to patch things up.” _Oh HELL no_ , _tonight this douchenozzle is getting a reminder that Aubrey is a free spirit._ Chloe took the chance to jump to her feet—though not so fast, as she was still rather drunk herself—and join Aubrey once more on the bed.

“Let’s see this shit,” had there been no alcohol coursing through her veins, the punk would have been very uptight and less assuming about this. Chloe waited for the girl to open her phone up and share the contents of the conversation with her. Chloe had briefly gone over it before, nearly texting him to piss off herself, but this time she was definitely saying something. After reading the condescending, patronizing message that he had somehow meant as an apology, Chloe knew it was time for someone to hold her beer. “Alright, this guy’s getting a wake up call.”

“Please don’t call him,” Aubrey put her hand on top of the phone as Chloe clutched it. “It won’t end well.”

“Relax, girl. I’m not calling him,” Chloe shook her loose, opened up the screen camera and held up the phone to take a selfie. “All I’m doing is something to really hit him where it hurts.” This pencil-neck, wannabe cowboy misogynist was about to see the girl he has constantly pushed around rocking bottle blue hair, next to a gorgeous thrasher. He needed to know to how much fun she was having until his micropenis personality ruined it. “Go ahead and smile for the camera,” Chloe told her, and Aubrey pulled it together to smile. _He’s going to hate this._

“Forgive me, Max,” Chloe prayed as she turned and placed her lips on Aubrey’s cheek, pressing the button to confirm the picture. Chloe let the corner of her lips curve upwards as she made contact with the other girl’s skin, desiring nothing more but to see the reaction from Jack once the message accompanying the text hit his inbox.

“Woah,” Aubrey remarked, shivering from the peck. She turned and stared at Chloe, confused as to what she had done. “I liked that more than I thought I would.” _It’s official, I shouldn’t have given her a beer._

“Figure it out when you can sit up straight,” Chloe said, her eyes drifting from Aubrey and back to the cell phone. “This is all okay with you, right?”

“He can fuck off,” Aubrey swore, her mouth agape before containing. “I am done crying over him. I don’t care.”

“Oh yeah,” Chloe nearly sang, her tongue hanging out of her mouth as she began to compose the message. _Let the hate flow through you, my apprentice._

“You gotta let me in on the message,” Hyram said, already resting on his knees behind them. Chloe scooted aside to allow him to glare over her shoulder as she attached the picture and typed up their eloquent reply.

 

 

_Jack_

_Babe. I’m sorry that we’ve been fighting so much. It’s not your fault, I know. I’m not mad anymore and I rushed to a decision because I thought it would reinforce the fact that I’m serious about it. I just can’t go without standing up for myself anymore. I think you have heard me loud and clear this time, but I really went overboard with the breakup. You always accuse me of trying to hurt you and that’s fucked up. I never meant to hurt you like this. When you get back to California, we can talk this out like adults instead of fighting like children. Hows that sound?_

 

_Aubrey_

Attached Image **.**

_Sorry but the number you are trying to reach no longer accepts messages from cockstained intolerant preppy bipolar abusive sexist racist narcissistic egotistical assholes such as yourself. Your days of pushing Aubrey into a wall are over. shes upgraded, and gotta say bro, you fucked up. if you ever lay a hand on her, disrespect her, or harass her in any way i will personally make your life a shitstorm. She is better off without you and you are better off sticking your head into a sink of bleach until you figure out what your fucking damage is._

 

 

Connor finally emerged from the back door, his lips pursed showing the hesitated start of dialogue. Chloe handed the phone over to Aubrey and beckoned for Connor to get over there. “I was wondering when you’d come back.”

“Max finally finished up with me,” Connor said. “Um, what’s going on here? You guys smell like alcohol.”

“Fair assessment,” Hyram shook his head, contorting his face as he did so. “Aubrey got dumped by Jack, Chloe and I helped get payback.”

“Was the payback worth it?” Connor asked, one of his palms open and extended out.

“You bet your candy ass it was,” Aubrey muttered, as Chloe decided she had accomplished her mission. For her, Max was waiting.

“Just FYI, Aubrey is coasting off her first time drinking and we just gave in to our petty desires,” Chloe said to Connor, who needed some preparation. At first, she could tell he wasn’t taking her seriously, and then she took him by the arm and lowered her head for intense and slightly exaggerated eye contact. “I’m not kidding. She’s a little ball of destruction until she falls asleep.”

“Right,” he said, still observably skeptical. Connor was probably wondering how bad of a breakup it must have been for Aubrey to jump straight into bad decision making. “Max was hoping to talk to you before you retire for the night.”

“She better,” Chloe waved everyone goodnight and truly hoped that Connor was ready to deal with the drunks in his room. She had a girlfriend who needed to answer some questions now that they finally had a moment where they weren’t being rushed. Chloe exited through the front of the room, noting the hallway was fairly secluded this time of night. She moved over to her room and slid the key card into the door before pushing it open. The rush of colder air from her room meant Max was either buried under sheets or she wasn’t actually in the room; the latter answer being worrisome to Chloe.

As she looked around the room, Max wasn’t there. A messed up bed with some clothing scattered along the edge was all she found, spare for Max’s camera resting on the floor with Chloe’s ragged backpack. Resisting the urge to shout her lover’s name, Chloe knocked once on the bathroom and received no response.

The only other place Max could be was outside on the miniature patio, though it was more of a cement block leading to the parking lot than it was a patio. If Max wasn’t there, then Chloe had justification to panic. She walked across the hotel room, hearing a thump from the drunk woman next door. _I bet Connor regrets walking in on that. I practically dumped it on him._

The punk opened the door and found her Max riding the edge of the cement block, her arms hugging her knees. Chloe plopped down beside her, feeling the moderate bliss take hold. It wasn’t long before Chloe had placed a cigarette on the tip of her lips and searched for her lighter.

“I thought you quit those,” Max teased her warmly, scooting closer to Chloe.

“I did quit them,” Chloe reminded her, as she brought the lighter to the tip of the cigarette and flicked it. The flame sustained itself for a brief period of time, as the cigarette lit up and Chloe inhaled. She pulled the cigarette away, staring at the cute brunette next to her. “And then someone just had to go get hospitalized.” The smoke rolled into her lungs and she held it in for a solid five or so seconds until exhaling.

“I’m sorry,” Max apologized, sinking into Chloe, who wrapped her right arm around Max and pulled her in close. For the whole time she had known Max intimately, she knew the girl apologized too much. It did get on her nerves, and she sometimes Max would stand up for herself when she markedly needed to. The hospital visit was not her fault, and Chloe had only been ribbing her. _Drunk me, fucking up. Of course._

“Don’t say sorry. I made you go to the hospital,” Chloe assured, running her hand along Max’s shoulders. “None of that is your fault, and I’ll keep saying it until you stop apologizing for it.”

“Sorry,” Max said accidentally, and Chloe pinched the back of her neck. Max scrunched up her shoulders and bumped the girl lightly, before sinking further into the embrace. “I need to talk about all of this.”

“You do, but I’m pretty wrecked,” Chloe admitted to her. “I promise to be nice if you be gentle.”

“What do you think about the three year time hop? I know I didn’t tell you, about all of the weird stuff that happened in the other reality, the world ending scenario and other things.” As Chloe recalled the anger she held over the lie of omission, it was apparently felt by Max as she tightened up in anticipation of the punk’s answer. There was much gravity to the claim, and even more than that, Chloe’s initial reaction was that the Max she was holding was somehow three years older than the Max who she had taken to the hospital several months before.

This Max had three years of their future committed to memory, and decisions that could make or break their lives. Of course Chloe was upset she didn’t put that on the table to begin with. Yes, she had broken a promise to never keep secrets from Chloe—and the violet-haired punk was still uncertain if Max had even honored that from how little they had spoken about the Bay—but the exigent circumstances weighed heavily on Max and Chloe could see that. If Chloe had been the same woman she was a few years ago, this would have been a deal-breaker, but the photographer was so much more to her than anyone else was. Max made a vow after Arcadia Bay to never use her powers, and now she was trying to correct three whole years. Chloe couldn’t hold that against her, especially if the implication was that something bad had happened, _once again_ , to them both.

“Hun, I’m too drunk to get angry over that. We’ll tackle your future story later. There’s something else you want to talk about. I can see it on your cute little face.” Chloe’s hands had been tracing Max’s back until she crept up her neck and moved to mess her hair up. Taking another drag off of her cigarette, she rested her head on the brunette’s.

“It’s about Connor,” Max told her, giving Chloe an opening to lightly press for more information.

“Should I be worried?” Chloe inquired, feigning jealousy. “You spent awful lot of time together tonight.”

“Not a chance,” Max laughed quietly. “He’s way too excited over this. He has no idea what he’s capable of with so much power. I don’t know if I’m the right person to help him.”

“Must be fun playing Master Stick,” said Chloe as she rested her eyes, feeling so comfortable with her lover that she remembered how late it was getting. “Did something come up?”

“I almost told him something that he can’t know,” Max whispered. “They can’t know.”

“Know what, hun?” the punk fished for the conclusion of that thought.

“That they were supposed to die.” Chloe had suspected as much, but having Max up and admit it made the conversation easier. It wasn’t an easy thing to think about for sure, and having spent a decent amount of time with Hyram and Aubrey left her feeling unpleasant about the idea that they could have died.

“So why not get us going sooner? I was doubtful about the Prescott Estate too, you know.” Max did not respond, instead tightening up as she had at the start of the conversation. Chloe could feel the girl’s strain in the way she breathed, how it was irregular and hoarse. “Max. Is this all about the Oracle or is there something else you aren’t letting me in on?” This had been seen a mile away, Max hiding shit from her, for her ‘own good’. Chloe let go of Max, sitting up straight and bringing the cigarette back up to her mouth. She took a long drag and opted instead to lean against the hotel wall. “The others really don’t know?”

“They never asked,” Max tried to speak normally again, though coming off as another whisper.

“How does it happen?” asked Chloe, staring off past her truck and towards the desolate bar she had been at only hours before.

“I don’t know. There were five bodies discovered in the wake of a two week storm,” Max told her, a raspy sigh following. Chloe’s eyes widened while picturing the brief description, blowing another bit of smoke out of her lungs.

“Shit. Two week storm, huh. Sounds like Connor got mad as hell. You’re sure about all of this?” Max broke from her defensive posture and turned her head toward Chloe. It was a fair assertion for Chloe to think that Max was worried she sounded untrustworthy. “I’m just asking, if I wake up tomorrow, or any second from now, are you going to come to from a rewind and tell me we have to go?”

“Chloe,” Max’s voice was on the verge of tears. “Are you mad at me?” _Don’t you start crying, Max Caulfield._ Chloe, being unable to stand the thought of her girlfriend’s distraught state, rubbed out her cigarette on the pavement and scooted back to Max. She placed both arms around her, pulling the photographer in for a passionate embrace.

“I’m a little pissed, but nothing takes me away from you, Max.” She nuzzled the sad girl, pulling her tighter into the embrace. “This is all a huge risk, especially for us. If these people catch you, they’d plug both you and Connor in to machines for the rest of your lives. I’m not willing to let that happen.”

“Chloe, we’re doing the right thing,” Max rested her head between Chloe’s shoulder and chin, laying a peck on her neck.

“You aren’t a fucking superhero,” Chloe conferred. “You don’t need to solve every problem that pops up in the world. You get so broken every time something happens these days. Do you even remember that, even after three years, how I joked that you’d put on a costume and get a shitty nickname?”

“This time, we have no choice.” Max conceded. “It isn’t just Arcadia Bay this time. Everyone dies, and I’m the only one who can stop it.”

“Says who, Max?” Chloe demanded, her grip on the girl loosening.

“Because it happened!” Max shouted. “I can’t keep letting this shit happen if I’m the only one who can make up for it!” Max’s eyes were watering, even Chloe could see it from the corner of her view. “Arcadia Bay was _my_ fault. I couldn’t even tell the others the truth! If only I had come back to Blackwell sooner, or found another way. I can’t let that happen a second time, Chloe! I can’t!”

 _Enough of this shit._ Chloe placed her hands on the back of Max’s neck and gestured for her to move closer. Once the brunette locked eyes with her, Max’s glistening eyes shooting pain through Chloe’s body, she pulled her in and kissed her. It was a deep, consciousness-connecting kiss, that turned into another, and another. Chloe wasn’t about to watch the only person who mattered in her life blame the cruel atrocities of nature on herself. She hadn’t come this far to let Max hold that guilt in. She wasn’t going to stop until that was dispelled and a long lost memory. Chloe’s hands moved from Max’s neck to the back of her head as they continued to kiss, and then slowly pulled away to gaze into the girl’s beautiful blue eyes.

“Don’t you _ever_ fucking tell me that you owe the world a damn thing ever again,” Chloe said, trembling as she held onto Max. She was infuriated with the supposition, even a slight suggestion, that Max had to make up for _anything_. Blackwell, Arcadia Bay, Nathan Prescott, Mark Jefferson, David Madsen, fuck all of them. They got what they deserved. “Every single day that I’m alive and come home to you, is how you make up for it all. My entire world is right here in my arms, that world I fell madly in love with.”

Although she wasn’t sure if what she said had been enough, Max began to cry regardless and Chloe held onto her for as long as she needed. Chloe was suddenly so exhilarated, just to feel the emotional tenderness that they were sharing. Max was giving her raw, pure love, even if she didn’t know it. Stressful days at their apartment in LA sometimes blocked that out. Even now, on a mission of global importance, she was reminded of how much she loved Max. “Still glad I’m your partner in crime?”

“Only if I’m your partner in time,” Max crooned, running her hand across Chloe’s cheeks. “Chloe, before we leave Arcadia Bay, I want us to pay our favorite hangout spot a visit. Just one last time.”

“I wouldn’t miss that to save my life,” Chloe assured her. “Once this is all over, I’ll take us back.” Their favorite spot, the same spot she had been to so many times with Rachel, was one of the few places left in Arcadia Bay where she had a peace of mind. After the big day in 2013, it had left an even larger mark on her childhood, but if this was truly the last time they’d have to see Arcadia Bay, then she would gladly take Max’s hand and see it.


	12. Irrevocability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm isn't always so calm.

**Chapter 12: Irrevocability**

 

_March 17 th 2015_

_Oh my god. Is the nightmare over yet?_ contemplated Connor as his eyes opened with a burning reminder that he had not gotten enough sleep. Luckily, he had taken the side of the bed closest to the alarm clock, and he caught it before it rang a second time. It was 9:03AM, which meant he had to get up and have a fun world-saving day. His rest had been disturbed all night long, having apportioned the bed to give Hyram somewhere to sleep. Until last night, Connor had not known that Hyram snored. In the other bed, Aubrey had buried herself in a clump of pillows and sheets. If she had somehow died in the middle of the night, nobody would have known. _Oh goodness, Aubrey needed Jesus last night._

Babying them the whole time took a lot out of Connor, and he was going to let Chloe hear all about it once he found her. Despite his reservation over her coping methods, it was great to see Aubrey finally standing up for herself and dumping the baggage she carried for Jack. There was no doubt he would either have a meltdown over Chloe’s antics as well as Aubrey telling him to screw off, or he would be begging her back like the feckless coward he was.

Connor found his footing as he exited the bed, ignoring the grumbling Hyram as he got up and headed to the bathroom. He started to brush his teeth over the sink with a toothbrush and toothpaste Max had been thoughtful enough to provide. He couldn’t wait to shave off his encroaching facial hair once he wasn’t on the run from government agents and supernatural hillbillies. _You’re the supernatural one, pal._

Hyram had told them, with heartfelt emotion, that his mother’s overdose was now being investigated as a murder. It was not what Connor had anticipated out of the storytelling, but Hyram was so relieved to put it out in the open. Even Aubrey had managed to pull herself together and offer him condolences. He had seen a new side to both of his friends. The cameraman was capable of speaking about his feelings and Aubrey was honest about her vulnerabilities. She even went as far as swearing off dating until she figured out exactly what she was doing and what she wanted, which to Connor might have been jumping the gun considering her mental state at that moment. He wondered if the next intervention would be for him, as he spat the paste out and gargled a bit of water. Chloe might have a super power of her own, a way to bring out the best in people.

“Ugh, after all that talking last night, I don’t know how my throat isn’t sore,” he mumbled, exiting the bathroom and looking to change out of his white shirt and into something more acceptable. “Multiverse, time travel, lightning, being slapped into helping a bunch of drunks, yuck.”

“Yuck is right,” Hyram stammered, burying his face in a pillow. “Connor, my man, we need some water bottles.”

“That’s my problem how?” Connor asked, slipping on his black t-shirt and faded gray pants. Looking for his jacket, Connor found that it wasn’t hanging up in the closet like the rest of his items. “Oh god, what did I do with my jacket?”  
“Chloe took it, remember?” Hyram grumbled under the pillow.

“Oh, right. Part of her own amusement.” She did have his, and he had worn hers in place. Her jacket still felt a little weird on his shoulders, but he hadn’t realized it was a size small until he got to the hotel room. Meanwhile, Chloe was enjoying his medium half-zipped crimson jacket. With the detectives snooping around the area, he thought it better if she kept it off her person until this adventure was over.

Grabbing the stupid camo cap that didn’t match his outfit and slipping on the blue-hued sunglasses, Connor took the room key and left his friends to awaken from their heavy slumber. After all, Aubrey was going to have her very first hangover and he wanted to be as far away as he could. Outside of their room, the hotel was fairly busy compared to what he had seen yesterday. A new couple and a family farther down were unloading their luggage, and they actually received help from someone who looked to be management. _I didn’t see any bellhops around here, but I can’t complain after what they did for us._

The lobby was just as plain as it had been when they pulled off their sob story, and remarkably the shift manager hadn’t said a word further about it. He also hadn’t seen the woman since the arrangements were made, and that was either a good thing or a bad thing if the current manager simply looked through their ledger and saw unverified guests. Connor wasn’t quite sure why he decided to examine the whole hotel before he departed to the coffee shop across the street. Perhaps, it was out of some curiosity to see if the PI’s were still on their trail. Since their enemies were nowhere to be found, he took it as a good sign.

Outside, Connor suddenly regretted his lack of proper apparel as the chilly breeze hit him. _Jesus Christ, did it drop ten degrees outside?_ He immediately pulled out his phone, checked the weather for Portland and squinted upon seeing the numbers. It was just under fifty Fahrenheit, and now he wished he had even Chloe’s small jacket to give him at least _something_. Frowning at the severe dip, he decided he would make the trip to the coffee shop quick and without further complaint in the moment. He rushed through the somewhat empty parking lot, regarding the closed bar as he made it to the crossing lane. He was used to the Florida heat where it regularly soared between eighty-five or ninety-five. While it wasn’t time to cross nor was the street light red, the town was dead as could be and Connor jay-walked across to the strip mall. If the temperature didn’t go up by the time they were back in Arcadia Bay, he was going to be an unhappy camper.

Being comfortably close, Connor began to power-walk toward the coffee shop. Unlike the parking lot at the hotel, the shop’s spaces were filled up. People in Doppler really needed their coffee, as even the drive-through was packed. He never thought that a place with a half-abandoned strip mall would be a thriving business location.

He finally gripped the handle to the front doors, hyping himself up for the warm heat and even warmer mocha latte awaiting him. The interior was dull yet inviting, with the light brown wooded tile adorning the walls and counters. The baristas did not look as if their souls had been sucked out and actually seemed to enjoy their job, evidenced by the relaxed smiles and energetic auras. The establishment wasn’t as crowded as it appeared from the outside, but there were plenty of customers inside—including one loner who kept to his laptop, intensely drinking black coffee. _That’s obviously the fan fiction writer out of the lot._

Connor approached the counter until he recognized the infamous Ashton Barry at the very back of the shop, once again speaking on a phone while sipping a coffee mug. On her table were scattered papers and an electronic tablet where she had difficulty multi-tasking between the phone call, the papers and her touch screen. He was aware that she could have been around, as evidenced by Chloe’s description of last night’s events and Hyram’s in his drunken stupor at least once or twice. He had been expecting to see her again, but would’ve been far more relieved if he hadn’t.

Though he was winded, it only took him a moment to pick up on some of her conversation. She was having a disagreement with somebody, presumably her partner, over some aspect of their paranormal investigation. Skipping out on the coffee, Connor shot back out the front doors of the shop. Honestly, it was nothing new or useful and he knew the longer he tried to eavesdrop, someone would either ask him what his deal was or she would see right through his poor disguise. The person who could benefit from this exchange, however, was Max Caulfield. He sent her a text alerting her to Barry’s presence, but he didn’t receive a reply. What a time not to have Chloe’s phone number. Further considering how to help his time-traveling accomplice, he realized there was nothing he could do without drawing attention to himself.

He waited a moment further, still receiving nothing in return from Max’s end. Their friendship was in its infancy, but Max displayed very flighty tendencies that kept him on alert. Throughout last night’s conversation, he could see it; the way she had stared off toward the hotel room doors, the way she was always not quite there. While deep down he knew she had no intention of abandoning them, he couldn’t shake the pervasive thought that it might happen. Just the idea of wasting precious hours in an important day motivated him to rush back to the hotel. Backtracking always felt faster, but he was also jogging back rather than walking. Connor jay-walked back over the street, this time not noticing a car until it began to blare their horn at him as he walked across.

He paused to stare up at the sky, seeing no clouds on the horizon but knowing damn well that with how things had gone, his emotions could very much fuck up the bright cold day. He just needed to hold it together until he got in touch with Max, and so the narrator rushed through the lobby where he was then stopped by the now-present shift manager who had helped them out.

“How is your friend,” the manager thought about their names for a moment, “Marry?”

“Oh, she’s currently buried under six inches of pillows,” Connor replied courteously. “You haven’t seen that guy, right?” He couldn’t be assed to remember the masculine name that Max had come up with.

“Brett, no. We haven’t yet, but I’m keeping my eyes peeled,” replied the manager. “If anything comes up, just let us know.” Connor nodded in affirmation and waved goodbye, returning to his mission to find Max.

Rounding the corner to their wing, Connor nearly bumped into the punk exiting her room in a hurry. She was sporting a blue band shirt, her ripped jeans, the boots that had started to grow on him, and she was approaching him about as fast as he had been jogging.

“Have you seen Max?” asked Chloe, coming to a halt in a rather standoffish manner. Her eyes pierced him and he could tell that Max must have taken off without warning.

“I texted her about Detective Barry. She’s across the street in the coffee shop,” as he finished the answer Chloe threw her head back, her eyes scrunched shut.

“God damn it, Max,” Chloe cursed. “Can’t you just keep me in the loop for once?”

“I thought she was asleep, because she didn’t reply,” Connor said, delicately avoiding anything that might upset the woman.

“She _was_ asleep,” Chloe raised her voice, “and _then_ I roll over and she’s gone. Fucking time traveler.” At the rate Chloe was fidgeting she was almost pacing in the hallway. “Well, she’s definitely screwing with the detectives. I just hope she knows what she’s doing.” There was no way Max had somehow made it from her room to the coffee shop without passing Connor. It was open enough that he should have been able to see anybody roaming about. Sure, he was rushing, but he remembered seeing absolutely no one, not even in the parking lot for the cafe.

A vibration from his pocket caught his attention, and apparently Chloe had also received a text. They simultaneously checked their notifications, and while Connor received his orders Chloe breathed a sigh of relief. “What did she say to you?” he questioned.

“That she’s okay, and she finished up at the coffee shop.” Chloe blinked several times, lowering her phone. “She’ll do this from time to time. You’ll get used to it.”

“She’s finished?” Connor asked incredulously. “It’s been maybe five minutes.”

“Yeah, what do you want me to say that I didn’t already say a second ago?” Chloe shrugged. “Did she give you any instructions?”

“She wants us to search the parking lot for the black sedan, because she can’t find it at the coffee shop,” Connor rephrased Max’s text message. “I’m guessing that means she got the keys.”

“Okay,” Chloe said, already stepping backwards to get a move on. “You start with the parking here. I’ll check the nearby areas!” Just as he nodded and turned to leave, placing all of his trust on Max’s abilities, Chloe ran down the hall towards a side exit. Getting instantaneous results from the time traveler was convenient, but he was ready for anything to go wrong. Something always did in these situations.

He took the shortcut through Aubrey’s room, noting that Hyram had not yet gotten up and the editor was still sprawled underneath a mountain of sheets. While he might have missed some off-hand comment that the cameraman said as he hastily rushed through the room, he would let them know what was happening after they found the sedan. As soon as he was out the backdoor and into the parking lot, he noticed Chloe’s truck had been moved. Did Max do that too? Chloe left through the hotel hallway rather than their backdoor, so it had to have been Max.

He started going left, noting that a majority of the license plates parked at the hotel were out of state. How close were they to the highway, he wondered, continually looking over his back. There was always the chance that Detective Barry was not acting alone in Doppler and such a chance further fueled his search for the black car that had stalked them around the area.

Tucked at the very back of the parking lot was a black car, and the urban explorer bolted over to verify if it was the same sedan they were looking for. Halfway there, he saw the front-facing plate with the green conifer in the center and “WLF 359”. The hunch could be entirely wrong, but he didn’t recall an Oregon license plate on the detective’s vehicle. Now that he thought about it, he remembered the plate having a city name across the bottom of it. _Yes! It was yellow and read “District of Columbia” along the bottom. How could I forget that detail?_

Connor kept to the left, though directly in the center of the driving lane of the parking lot. The back end of the hotel had filled up overnight, and was where most of the guests had apparently parked. He saw several more darker four-door cars, though none of them had a yellow plate. He hadn’t gotten a call or text yet telling him to stop, so he would keep going. At this rate, he was also expecting a gun to be drawn on him at any second by an undercover operative who knew about his power. Using his lightning on somebody would not bode well for anybody, so he shook that feeling and peered across the property line into the bar’s parking lot.

He could see only one car, this one dark and also a four-door but by now, he wasn’t going to be sold that easily. Connor approached the next lot, checking to his left and his right before crossing over. He was so far alone in his endeavor, with no prying eyes. What stuck out to him about the car he was readily coming up to was that the bar was closed until noon, meaning that this car was very conspicuously parked or it was a member of the building’s staff putting in some overtime.

Only five yards out, Connor could see the shape of a human body in the back seat. He wasn’t sure if it was worth investigating, but it was always possible that Mr. Dannel was sleeping out in the back of their car. After all, Ashton was spotted outside the bar last night. Perhaps her partner had a bit too much to drink before they showed up.

Actually, that raised a fair point that Connor hadn’t thought about: the outcome of the battle between Hugh Olhouser and the detectives was unknown. If they were both here, then would that mean Olhouser was dead? That would mean they were legitimately out looking for him and his friends. He couldn’t let them discover Max, if that turned out to be true. Oh god, Max and Chloe were _really_ sticking their necks out for them on this trip.

Connor was disappointed upon peering through the windshield, only to see a mess of clothes and garbage across the floor of the car. The person in the backseat was probably someone too wasted to drive home last night, and definitely not a suspicious trench-coat wearing government agent.

The front of the hotel bore no fruit, though every color car imaginable except for black was parked and visible. He was ready to take a breather, the compelling urge to sprint around the parking lot gone. Max had rewind powers, right? She could find it if he didn’t, and it probably wasn’t at the hotel anyway. Strange to consider that Barry could be here without transportation, but she could have rented a room here as well. Now _that_ was an even scarier idea; that their neighboring room could harbor the fierce woman who’d shoot them through their wall just for breathing the wrong way.

He found a bench located at the front of the hotel, where he unceremoniously collapsed. The short walk had been nothing compared to the hike from Ms. Leonardson’s house, or the trek from Blackwell to the road, but his legs had gotten no time for recovery since. Now, Connor was regretting his decision to skip the latte. He stared across the front parking lot, observing a pink punch buggy and a dark gray van right in front of him. Their hotel was, to say the least, interesting in the company it kept. The van was ostensibly some kind of gig truck, where recording equipment and other musical devices were stored. He removed his sunglasses to read the logo on the side of the van, his eyes briefly narrowing as he finished the name. It was none other than the one man wonder they had agreed to meet at the hotel, the so-called “DJ Doom”. _Holy crap, we completely forgot to call that interview off_. He could be roaming the hotel right now, infuriated that they had seemingly stood him up.

Connor had started to play with his phone, the necessity behind the search for the sedan still present but finding it unlikely. It just wasn’t there, and from what he could see across the street, where Max had supposedly been, there were no black cars either. Going straight for his messages, he opened up his conversation with Max and started to shoot her a text to see if she had found it. Someone belligerent, who had taken an interest in Connor on the bench, began cursing and coming at him. Connor dropped his phone onto the bench and stood up in the event he needed to defend himself.

“Hey, dickhead!” shouted the dark blond approaching, their fists balled. The narrator barely recognized the owner of the van, dubious as to how easily he had spotted Connor. _This disguise must be really terrible if this guy can find me._ “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Immediately, he was in Connor’s face, grabbing onto his shirt and holding him firmly. The DJ had him in his clutches before the brunet could grab his phone and text for help. “You think I’m retarded or something?”

“I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to chill the fuck out,” Connor said as calmly as he could, wrapping his hands around the erratic DJ’s wrists. “We’re outside a fucking hotel lobby.” He could see the bloodshot eyes and blood coming from their nose as the DJ shook him by his collar.

“Or else what?” asked the perpetrator, staring at Connor with one eye. It was impossible to understand what was racing through the guy’s mind, but the urban explorer was going to be in some deep shit if he didn’t find a way to get free. Someone might call the cops if this went any farther.

“Or you’re gonna make a scene,” pleaded Connor, squeezing the DJ’s wrists until he released him. Connor took several steps back, reaching for the pocket knife in his pants when the DJ pulled out his substantially bigger knife. He should have just kept to calming the scrawny narcissist down, cause trying the game of chicken failed.

“Oh, lets make a scene!” he entreated, waiting for Connor to make a move. Connor’s intention was never to strike first, though he would rather not strike at all. He wasn’t gonna let this guy actually carve him up, but the knife made fighting back a moot idea. Unlike Olhouser and the detectives, Connor hadn’t been afraid of this man until the knife came out. If this escalated and he lost control of the fight, he was even more afraid of what might happen to the DJ if his powers inadvertently came out. “You’re gonna give me some answers!” he screamed, faking a lunge that forced Connor to put up both of his fists. “You’re gonna tell me why two cops are on my ass!”

“What two cops?” Connor could imagine who he was talking about, maintaining his distance and keeping his hands level enough to defend himself. They got to him first, maybe they roughed him up? It wouldn’t be out of the way, given Barry’s modus operandi so far. If they were going after DJ Doom, then they were truly desperate for leads.

“Do not fuck with me!” the DJ took another step toward him. “They detained me! Interrogated me! So if you wanna try me, bitch, you’re gonna tell me what the fuck is going on first!” The terror on his face, the desire for clarity was crystal clear. His motives were not, and obvious judgmental impairment had set in from whatever substance he was on. Unfortunately, the urban explorer was by no means the person to give him what he sought. In the far off distance, the sound of thunder emerged from the wilderness. _Calm the fuck down, Connor._

“They’re not undercover cops,” Connor told the unstable DJ. “Look, you need to get the fuck out of town before it gets bad around here.”

“Not before you tell me why they’re so god damn interested in you,” he pointed the knife toward the urban explorer, his face deranged. “And pay my fuckin’ gas bill for driving this far out. Were you at Arcadia Bay in October twenty-thirteen?” _What the hell is this guy tweaking out on?_ “Answer the fucking question!” he barked.

“Drop the knife,” an extremely pissed off Chloe ordered from behind him, holding her pistol with both hands on the grip. Behind her was Max, whose readied stance gave away the fear she had. Connor had picked up that she was always doing something with her hands. Maybe, like Aubrey, it was her way of coping with anxiety. He maintained his ready-to-strike pose just in case the erratic DJ, who had placed the knife on the ground and raised his hands above his head, decided to go nuts. “Kick the knife back to me.”

The DJ complied, sliding the knife across the pavement with his boot. Chloe bent down, keeping one hand on the gun which she kept pointed to the back of his head. Connor couldn’t believe she was holding the guy at gunpoint in the front of a hotel, where everyone might see them. He couldn’t tell if this was all an act or if she was actually ready to pull that trigger. Behind her, Max’s previously frozen demeanor was replaced with an almost stoic attitude, allowing the punk to continue with her disarmament. The knife originally pulled on Connor was now placed into Chloe’s right-side pocket. “You gonna kill me now?” he insinuated, eliciting an annoyed groan from Chloe. _This guy’s daft as fuck if he thinks we’re really willing to do that._

“You’re going to stop being a dumbass,” she insisted acidly, placing her gun into her right-side pocket, “before we have to get those two cops back over here and let them see what you’re snorting in that van.” All it took was a single word, just one little word and he went into a full meltdown, wildly turning in all directions. Chloe didn’t like this, as she moved to seize him before he could fight back.

“The fuck are you talking about,” he growled, as Max moved ahead of Chloe. The punk appeared ready to jump on the guy if he did anything to Max, but the photographer clearly had a plan in mind.

“Why don’t we just talk this out? You were being really aggro just now, and we had to change that.” Connor just watched in awe as Max, who had previously been enigmatic about the altercation, take charge of it. The DJ began to scratch the back of his head, slowly turning around to see them both.

“Listen listen listen,” he pleaded, although Connor could clearly see Max guiding him to the back of his van, away from prying eyes. Chloe’s head dipped toward Connor and gestured for him to follow.“I don’t wanna go to jail and I don’t wanna see those two fuckers again. But you gotta believe me, they straight up locked me in a room and interrogated me. That woman is a real crazy bitch.”

“We won’t be as rough,” Chloe affirmed. “Answer our questions, and we all leave fair and square. Understand?”

“I understand,” DJ Doom lilted, peering over the top of the van at the front lobby entrance. Connor found himself staring as well, noting that nobody had seen Chloe pull a gun on him, or the almost-stabbing.

“What did they ask you about?” Chloe asked in a patronizing tone beside Max. The DJ was exasperated but helpless, and he rapidly blinked before craning his neck at her.

“They wanted everything I knew about your fuckin’ webshow,” his eyes locked onto Connor, who viewed him with skeptical lens. “Your names, faces, our online conversations, and my whereabouts in Arcadia Bay the day before the monster storm touched down.”

“And that was reason enough to come up and assault me?” Connor contended, his eyebrows risen over the stupidity displayed. “You’re a paranoid one, aren’t you?”

“That’s the cocaine thinking for him,” Chloe scoffed, then getting a chastising glare from Max. Chloe rolled her eyes and, realizing she was being needlessly insensitive, backed out of the conversation.

“What else did they say about Arcadia Bay?” asked Max, ensuring that the DJ felt no harm from her.

“All kinds of shit I didn’t know,” he answered verily, heavily breathing. “Look, can you just let me go now? I’m not gonna freak out.”

“I believe you,” Max replied to him. “I don’t think you’re going to do anything stupid,” Connor would side with Max on this one. From the way the DJ was crying, any shred of the chest beating confidence he had had been reduced to ashes.

“All just a big misunderstanding, right fellas?” Connor was the farthest from his fella as he could get. “They asked if I noticed anything abnormal about the town, or if I had seen the creepy fuckin’ weather. I guess I did, the double moon stuff defied explanation,” he was definitely on cocaine judging by how fast he spat the words out.

“Rewind,” Connor said to him, nearly shooting a look to Max out of the corner of his eye. “Let’s focus on what you told them about me and my friends.” The DJ shook his head, agreeing it was a good place to resume the conversation.

“Told ‘em everything I knew, I didn’t have a say in the matter. They told me you guys were highly dangerous, could you believe that shit? They’ve been lookin’ for you here because they knew you were ‘sposed to meet up with me. I thought maybe there was something special with me from the way they were acting.”

“Yeah, well shit happened,” Connor told him sparingly. “Are the two of them still here?”

“No,” Max answered him, spelling bad news for her mission to find the sedan. “She’s acting alone right now. How much did you drop in gas?” she directed towards the twitching DJ.

“Forty bucks,” he said to her without even guessing. “Forty bucks.” Connor shot her a glare and shook his head. She couldn’t really be considering reparation for his gas money, and yet Max pulled out several five dollar bills and offered them out to the DJ. He dithering about the cash, as if expecting a trick. “What’s the catch?”

“You should probably get out of here before they come back,” Max said sympathetically. “After all, you said there might be something special about you.” _What are you doing, Max?_ He watched her feed the man’s head as he perked up to ponder about her inference.

“I’ve been thinking,” the DJ said after several seconds of checking his corners. “I’ve been thinking ever since it happened, why right after that gig at the school, did a freak storm show up? Some Day After Tomorrow shit. The cops got me wondering if it was somehow because of me.”

Connor had heard nothing more preposterous than the idea that this guy, some moron who couldn’t even keep up with the time of day, was masquerading around as a really awful disc jockey by day and Avatar by night. At least with Connor’s suspicion over the Prescotts, there was some precedent behind it. Even Chloe hid a grin from the absurdity of it, but the photographer kept rolling with it. On second thought, Max was using his own paranoia against him. That was clever but also evil in a way.

“Exactly why you need to go off the grid! If they think the same, then your life is in danger,” she asserted. “One of them is here right now, at the coffee shop. If she spots you,” she trailed off, leaving it up to his hyperactive, drug-induced imagination.

“They’re gonna throw me in prison,” he babbled, crazily shaking his head in all directions. “Or a loony bin! Fuck, you guys better hide too!” He rushed around the side of his van to the driver’s side. Before he could successfully open the door, Chloe had snapped her fingers to get his attention.

“If you ever contact him or any of his friends ever again, it’s not going to be pretty,” she concluded.

“I don’t want to see you fellas ever again,” he declared, hopping into the driver’s seat, and almost as if he hadn’t waited for his car to start, carelessly pulled out and sped off toward the parking lot’s exit without concern for his speed. Thankful for it to be finally over, Connor turned on a dime to see Max holding out his cell phone. She had found it before he even recalled dropping it.

“How did you?” he started to ask, when Max covered her mouth with a small bout of laughter. Looking past Connor and seemingly toward Chloe, they were making fun of him.

“How many times are we gonna say it?” Chloe punched him lightly in the shoulder, walking away from him to wrap her arms around Max. It was wonderful to see the two girls happy and together, despite the depressing circumstances surrounding them. “Get used to it.”

“Which part?” Connor questioned, his phone comfortably back where it belonged in his pocket.

“Saving your skin, obviously,” she joked, although he was certain she was speaking about Max’s talents too. From the middle of Chloe’s hug, Max poked her head out. She was obviously struggling to remain quiet and in the arms of her lover, but she addressed Connor in all but speech. He waited on her, ready for an update on the sedan story.

“Turn off your phone and pull out the sim card,” Max politely told him, earning her an unsure expression. “Everyone else should do the same for the rest of the trip.”

“How do we stay in touch?” the urban explorer quizzed, seriously against the idea of cutting their only means of communication. Chloe angled back toward Connor, dismissively smiling at his reluctance.

“Weren’t you bitching about no signal for the last two days?” Chloe quipped, giving Max her arms back. “Your phone won’t do us much good once we get there.”

“Let us handle that,” the photographer exhaled, placing both hands on her waist.

“By the way,” Chloe pulled the big knife she had confiscated from her pocket and brandished it around in front of Connor. “I think you need an upgrade.”

“Aww shucks,” Connor stated plainly, accepting the knife from her. “Is this a trophy from the corpse of my enemy?”

“No. If that were the case, I’d be keeping it.”

Back in Chloe’s room, where the cameraman and the editor had finally graced the world with their grumpy presence, they held one last meeting to discuss the fate of their next visit to the dead town. Max was rather fervent in her desire to get the discussion flowing. After cluing the other two in on what had happened, getting a tame cackle from them over DJ Doom’s illusion, and an apology from Hyram for failing to mention the DJ in the first place, Max started explaining the situation with Ashton Barry.

“Yes, I did it more than once,” Max specified to Hyram, who had immediately questioned how many times she had used her powers to talk to Barry. He wasn’t satisfied, his arms folded while apparently deep in thought.

“But how many times?” A collective groan drowned out the end of his question, Aubrey nearly slapping him as Max narrowed her attention to check if he was serious.

“Six times,” Max rephrased her answer. “The fourth time, being really insane.”

“How so?” Hyram locked onto her widening smirk as she raised her hands into the air.

“It involves lots of weather data, Russian intelligence, and a Siamese prostitute with camera implants.” Watching Hyram’s head explode from the answer, he had jumped so fast on it that Connor nearly wanted to stop him while he was ahead.

“Really?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Chloe interjected. “The truth would’ve bored you. Mind shutting up now?”

“As I was saying,” Max wiped the amusement from her lips, “she was having a heated argument with Hugo Wright, which I think is Mr. Dannel. Apparently, the reason we couldn’t find their car was because he left her at the hotel due to her volatility. He switched her into support and research, and she wasn’t happy about it.”

“Where could Wright be?” Hyram had inquired, though not just to Max but to the whole room.

“He’s probably trying to catch Olhouser,” suggested the editor. “If seeing them around here was any clue, yesterday’s fight didn’t settle the score. Otherwise, why split up?” That would suggest he had survived the shootout, which was even more troubling to think. At least they knew Aubrey’s vehicle was probably not at the Prescott Estate.

 _At least Ms. Leonardson made it out of that alive_ , if Connor were to take Mr. Wright at his word, that was. The moustached detective had at least had sounded genuine when he told them Ms. Leonardson was left unmolested.

“I actually had a _conversation_ with her about the weather. She was nice enough then, nothing like you guys had prepared me for, but then… I did get a photo of the papers she had on her table,” Max admitted proudly and reaching into her camera bag. “She was livid that time, I almost wasn’t able to rewind.” She revealed a Polaroid copy of the messy table top with newspaper clippings, written notes and poorly-taken pictures that the detectives were gathering. It landed first in Aubrey’s hands, and she squinted at the finer details as she examined it.

“What did we learn from it?” Connor was ready to tackle this day, and the bottle bluenette handed it over to him to see for himself if Max had struck gold. The first thing he picked out were the coordinates on the scribbled notes. “Okay, these GPS coords.” Instead of requesting the photo to be passed along, Hyram simply sat down next to Connor and examined from there. Connor held it out between the two of them, giving the cameraman a better view.

“Right,” Max stated. “They were trying to triangulate Olhouser’s hideout. From the looks of it, they have been tracking him around the county for a few weeks.”

“Yeah,” Chloe added, propping herself back against the wall closest to the backdoor. “It turns out your redneck friend has a wide roaming range. I plugged a few of those in before I turned my phone off. One pings right outside of Portland.”

“What the hell was he doing in Portland?” Connor quizzed, although he didn’t expect a reply. Max only shook her head, while Chloe shrugged.

“Maybe he doesn’t actually live around here,” Chloe suggested. “It’s not out of the ordinary to think he’s visiting, just like everyone else.”

“There was one pic she had that I wasn’t able to grab,” Max continued, a sense of self-reproach present on her face. “But it lined up with one of the coordinates in the notes.”

“Where did they point?” Connor asked, allowing Hyram to absorb the contents of the photo on his own. He saw Chloe absently staring down towards her girlfriend, who had rested her fist on her lower lip.

“There are a lot of back roads in Arcadia Bay,” the photographer articulated. “The pings are in the middle of the forest at the back of the town, southeast of Blackwell. If they’re that interested in the back parts of Arcadia Bay, then that’s where we need to check. Whatever happened in the previous timeline, I can tell you it happened here and nowhere near Portland.”

“Okay, I can get behind that,” Aubrey said slowly, watching the rest of them to see their reactions.

“What were the other notes of?” Connor could barely make them out, not that Max was a bad photographer, but from how tiny the print was, it was illegible. The brunette, although still looking rather absent from reality, came to, like she had been entranced in something.

“Ashton is studying global anomalies,” she replied, to much attentiveness from Connor. “I thought you might feel that way. It’s like you said last night: if there are other people out there with powers like us, then it’s possible that she has a thing or two on that.”

Yes, Connor and Max had had a vigorous discussion regarding moments in recent history that defied known science, and could be explained much more simply had someone with superhuman skills meddled in the nature of things. They had stopped short of rambling like a group of conspiracy theorists, but Max wasn’t convinced that the Prescotts were behind Arcadia Bay even with this woman named Kristine involved. To be fair, it was still a touchy subject for her and he dropped it once he saw she had started sweating over it. They had moved on to recent news, like all the wildfires in the middle of winter or earthquakes in places that shouldn’t have had them. It could have been a freak occurrence caused by meddling with time, or it could have been summoned like with his own abilities. “Thanks for that!” he acknowledged.

“So, we’re going in on Olhouser, then grabbing our stuff?” Hyram inquired, clarifying on what they were running with so far, and received a nod from Max, yet not from Chloe who turned her head towards the beds instead of at the group.

“I think it would be better to scout first, stash the truck somewhere safe,” Chloe put her two cents in. “If we find the conditions favorable, then I’ll bring her back in to the school, we’ll haul your shit into my bed, and then roll up on Olhouser.”

“I don’t know,” Max confessed her uncertainty. “I think scouting groups are a good idea. I was thinking one team for the north and one for the south.” The room all shared tiny glances, waiting for further contributions to the plan.

“So, who’s going with who is the next business to settle,” Aubrey surmised. “Max, shouldn’t you get to Blackwell with Connor?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe immediately answered. “I think we should be team north, super-Max.”

“Actually, I was hoping Connor came with me and you to go with the others,” she aimed her gaze back to the punk, who let out a small, brittle laugh and met her eyes.

“You’re trying to convince me by being adorable,” Chloe said. “Wouldn’t it be better if he went? So we could have one power per team?”

“Chloe, darling, you have a gun. Connor can hardly control his power and I can only rewind time. I think you’re the best fit for defense out of any of us,” she smiled, her eyes closed while flirting at the violet punk.

“That begs another important question,” the cameraman said, his expression far from humorous. “If this shit hits the fan, and we get into serious trouble, are y’all willing to kill these people?” That was uncharacteristic of Hyram to bring up, but it was also an elephant that had been silently growing in the room. Now that it was on the table to talk about, it was probably worth mentioning.

“Ideally, I don’t want anyone to die,” Max said. “I’ll do what I can to stop that from happening.” Connor didn’t want to kill anyone either. Even Ashton Barry, who at the least gave them the impression that she wouldn’t have lost sleep had she pulled the trigger on them, didn’t deserve to die.

“The short answer, damn right.” Chloe replied directly to Hyram. “And if I’m stuck with you two scatterbrains,” she gestured with her elbow to Aubrey, “then start bowing down.”

The smirk infecting both the bluenette’s and the jokester’s face threatened to hop over to Connor’s as well, had he been less dedicated to working out a schedule. “So, there’s nothing left to talk about except to get ready.”

“Essentially,” Max affirmed. “We get over there, split into teams. You and I will head up to Blackwell and verify that your camp’s still there. We can check on the school while we’re at it.” Max regarded Chloe and then the others with an attentive neutrality. “Team two will circle round the bottom of the bay, and we can all meet up at a halfway point.”

“Where am I stashing the truck?” Chloe inquired, and judging from her worried lips and slightly scrunched eyes, she had an idea and wasn’t fond of it.

“The junkyard,” Max had said after meeting her gaze for a few strong seconds. “It’s the only place your truck wouldn't stick out.” Chloe was _really_ not behind the idea, breaking eye contact with Max as she spoke. “If Blackwell is safe, I’ll call you over for the goods.”

“Hey,” Connor broke the scene unfolding between the lovers. “You said you’d work on a solution for communication. Did you ever work that out?”

“Max can add larceny to her list of crimes,” Chloe shortly said, as Max unveiled the two blocky black radios, antennas old and worn. “Given the size of the town, I think these should be fine. We’ll pick up background chatter if we don’t use a special channel.”

“Alright,” Connor was satisfied, though still hazy where the day was going to take them. “Are we all set?”

“Basically,” Max finished, coming to her feet and adjusting her shirt. “If anything goes wrong and you can’t handle it, all you have to do is shout for me on the radio,” her cocky smile returned, and Connor moved to get up himself. He could go for a massage to alleviate all that tension in his back.

“We’ll get your SUV back, scout’s honor.” Connor reminded Aubrey that she had not been forgotten in the negotiations. “Hopefully, we’ll get an answer about the Oracle while we’re out and about.”

“I want you to know something, before we leave.” Max addressed the group, with Chloe joining at her side. “Due to the danger we’re about to face, I really wanted to just have you guys wait this out and let me take care of it. I’m afraid that something weird could happen, and I can’t afford to fuck this up.” Chloe grasped one of Max’s hands and leaned against her, as Max appeared lost.

“What kind of weird thing?” Aubrey probed, and Connor noted that she too was studying Max, now keen to the way her mood had yet again shifted, as it had when they first arrived to the hotel.

“Do you remember Kate Marsh?” the photographer shyly questioned, and Aubrey gave a melancholy nod.

“How could I forget? Her dad gave the most boring sermons at the church,” the editor concluded, but her tune changed as she realized Max wasn’t responding positively. “What’s wrong?” The punk began to pat Max once more on her shoulder, still keeping her hand clasped.

“She tried to kill herself,” Max revealed, and though Aubrey changed from incertitude to commiseration, the photographer went on. “I had to save her, but my powers had a meltdown. They didn’t work right, and I think it was from using them so much. What I’m saying is, that if I have to push myself, who knows what might happen? I haven’t regularly used these powers since the storm. So, I can’t do this without you guys.”

“Nobody wanted you to,” Connor reassured her. “I got your back.”

“As do I,” Aubrey committed, still caught up on the news about her old friend. “I’m sorry you went through that with Kate.”

“I’m game, of course,” Hyram remarked. “Wouldn’t have it any other way at this point. We’re taking that whole town by storm.” _Way to pick words, Hyram_ , Connor thought as he reached over and flicked the dreadlocked boy across the cheek.

“Thank you,” Max sighed and stretched her body. “You have no idea how nerve-wracking it is to know your greatest power can also shoot you in the foot.”

“I kinda do, considering I almost blew up our car,” Connor teased. “When do we leave?”  
Although it was hard to tell, he could see that Chloe was glad that they had all stood firm to support Max. Her grip on the girl’s hand had loosened, and she wasn’t attached to her hip as Connor had become accustomed to when Max appeared stuck. “ETA one hour,” Chloe informed them, before hiding a scoff at apparently nothing. When Max looked up at her with uncertainty, Chloe laughed. “Sorry, my inner sergeant asshat came out for a second.”

“Hopefully, this will be the last time we go back to Arcadia Bay,” Connor said, thinking back on his immersion—that same immersion which gave him the disquieting feeling, the realization that they had been totally and utterly alone—into the seemingly tranquil necropolis. In the span of a single day, all of the wonder and promise it had instilled in him had been replaced with a nightmare of government agents, supernatural powers, and foreboding omens. However, it had given them Max and Chloe, who were definitely growing on him by each passing hour. Together, with their help, they were going to put an end to this mystery once and for all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has to be the most unceremonious cameo I've ever written in for a character. Please, feedback is appreciated. Send me your thoughts, criticisms, proposals, etc. Anything to keep my going on my writing. Last but not least, thanks to those who actually like my work. You're part of the reason why I'm still uploading.
> 
> Revised 7/11/18


	13. Reawakened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not responsible for any strong emotions or feelings that my readers have during this chapter.

**Chapter 13: Reawakened**

 

The drive back to Arcadia Bay was uneventful besides the change from overcast to bright and sunny weather, although Chloe wasn’t convinced her new friends were comfortable in the truck bed. With the wind whipping around the sides of the cabin and directly into their faces, they had to be freezing. Connor had gotten his jacket back, as there really was no point in keeping a low profile now that they were returning, but Aubrey and Hyram were shivering.

Oddly enough, the first person Chloe remembered once she was in familiar territory was an old friend that had escaped Blackhell; Steph Gingrich had been a nerdy but charismatic girl Chloe had met in her first year at Blackwell Academy. Now that she came to mind, Chloe wondered if it was possible she took up her dad’s business of professional video editing. If not, Steph had better not have wasted her superb artistry. She had always put Chloe to shame with her talented sketches. _Man, I miss all of her bootleg DVDs. I miss her, too._ When they made it out of their current mess, Chloe _had_ to find a way to contact Steph. Shit happens when you disappear off the internet to avoid conspiracy chasers, especially losing touch with people.

Then there was her mother, Joyce Madsen. Formerly Price. Despite all the emotional manipulation and poor decisions her mother had made since her father died, she couldn’t help but love her mother. Joyce had let her down on countless occasions, but when it seemed most important, she had been there to help. Years later, now, Chloe was sure she had let her mother down as well.

She obviously thought of Rachel, her Knightess in shining armor who had arrived right in the nick of time to save her from the dragon outside the castle, otherwise known as life. It was true that Chloe had suffered tremendously, for reasons both her fault and not, but the validation she had received that Rachel had not abandoned her was bittersweet. Like her father, Rachel had been taken from her tragically, and unlike her father, she had only two people to blame. With Nathan buried, the only other person, Mark Jefferson, was likely killed in the weather, and boy, he was lucky. Had Chloe gotten her hands on Jefferson, he would have wished he had died in that bunker.

“You restless?” Max had noticed the way Chloe squeezed the wheel. She could have noticed the determined look settling on her face as well, while they drove past the first signs of destruction. Chloe remained focused on the road, but she slightly aimed her gaze towards the photographer, and then at their allies in the truck bed through the rear view mirror.

“Actually?” started Chloe, “I’m still thinking about how things used to be.”

“Are you okay?” Max asked her, offering her hand if Chloe needed it. Chloe obliged her, clasping it lightly and pulling it toward her lap.

“Funny enough, I’m not having bad thoughts. Not really,” she admitted. “Do you remember Steph Gingrich?”

“Only from the web,” Max said. “You used to mention her often. Her work was awesome.”

“She got out right as things went to shit,” Chloe stated, making a turn onto the next road. They were practically hugging the coastline, and would soon be within the city limits. “Steph moved away when… you know. It was bad timing, you know.” Bad timing was one way to put moving away right as Rachel had been abducted and killed. There had been no one left after that.

“Oh,” Max recoiled from her questioning and sank into her seat. Chloe, using the grasp she had on Max’s hand, pulled her back.

“It’s fine. She had a future to attend, I didn’t. I don’t blame her at all for getting the fuck out of this place.” With the job she held now, one which she had had to make an excuse to miss several days for, was very far from satisfying or even worth the pay. Steph, on the other hand, could be out there following her dreams, and, adding to that, so could Mikey North. Somewhere out there, the Norths had started new life for themselves far from the Bay or the Prescotts. Mikey’s departure had been on sad one, given the curriculum switch up at Blackwell. The punk still missed him just as much as she did Steph. Chloe hadn’t even touched a tabletop game since they had both left, and convincing Max to try it had been tedious to say the least. _This is the girl who prefers Picard over Skywalker, so of course._

“Well,” Max said coyly. “I did witness your fame and fortune for the next three years.”

“Max, that’s not funny.” Chloe tensed up at the girl’s teasing. “I don’t even know if I want to hear what happened to us.”

“If it’s not going to happen again, would it hurt to tell you?” Max countered, and Chloe would have pushed the girl if she wasn’t dedicated to the road ahead. Very soon, within five minutes, their destination would be ahead.

“Sure,” Chloe grumpily exhaled. “Just let me know who wins the presidency in 2016.” Max, nearly choking and covering her lips, gave Chloe an impish grin. “What the fuck is that grin over?”

“Do you really want to know?” Max’s strangely suggestive tone left Chloe ever more curious, and while she made the final left turn and headed towards the distant barely standing water tower, she broke from staring at the road and instead did it at Max.

“Yes, I want to know,” the punk insisted. “How screwed are we?”

“Everything’s broken,” Max revealed with a straight face. “You wouldn’t believe it even if I told you.”

“You aren’t gonna tell me, are you? Fucker,” Chloe cursed, as Max softly laughed. “Oh well, we’re here. Let’s get ready.” Glancing again in the mirror to Connor, Hyram and Aubrey, she could tell they were as ready as they would ever be. Chloe wasn’t sure if she was ready for what lay ahead, but she turned left towards the junkyard—or what was left of it, as most of its contents had been tossed around by the storm.

Chloe drove in as far as she could before they were obstructed, and any premature emotions she had felt thinking about this part of the plan, the fear of standing in American Rust after everything that had happened, were gone. Without them, she was able to park despite the numerous obstacles outside of the truck. She switched the ignition off and hopped out, finding her handgun and sliding it into her pocket. The others were behind her promptly, awaiting the “mission briefing”. As long as Chloe didn’t think about the baggage that she carried over this place, she could stay in the right head space.

“This place is trashed,” Hyram appeared impressed with the abysmal state of the junkyard. “Even for a junkyard, man. Lucky this shit wasn’t flying all over the town.” Chloe wasn’t convinced that it _hadn’t_ been flying all over the place, considering the sorry state of the town. There were bits and pieces of American Rust all over, from what she had seen. Right in front of them, though, the old boat she had smoked in was back from wherever the city had stashed it. This time, it was on its side, with the ship hull facing them. The trash that had usually graced their presence was everywhere, and the mountains of garbage that once stood strong were reduced to garbage carpets that stretched across the damaged railroad tracks. What was even more disappointing was their hideout shed. Like many other buildings in Arcadia Bay, it was now nonexistent. She had made years of history there, with more than just her two closest people, and it had been entirely destroyed spare for the cement where it once stood.

“I didn’t think a place this shitty could be even more shitty,” Chloe folded her arms, wanting to be done with this place as quickly as they could be. “Let’s get down to business.”

“And before you say it Hyram—no,” Connor warned. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I wasn’t until you brought it up,” Hyram shrugged with a half-smile, even though the punk found it hard to believe that he didn’t instantly think about defeating the Huns. “I’d like to get it started, too. If I still had a camera, this place would be _killer.”_

 _Killer. Yeah._ Chloe exercised her breathing, slowing her heart down. When Max had asked this of her initially, Chloe had absolutely been down with revisiting the junkyard. In the moment, she found it trying, especially when she could do nothing but prop up against her truck and wait for the recap.

“In summary, Connor and I will use the treeline and wrap around the back of town until we hit Blackwell,” Max laid it out, gripping her camera bag as she went on. Chloe was resistant to Connor going with her, given the threats ahead. She didn’t have the energy to object to the pairing anymore, so she had given up pushing the point. “You three will cut through the center of town, and if you see anything fishy, you can radio back to us about it.”

“What was the frequency again?” Aubrey requested, fiddling with the radio in her hands.

“Three,” Chloe shortly stated.

“Yeah, three,” Max affirmed. “Once you find everything all clear, we can double back to Blackwell and tackle Olhouser’s hideout together.” Hyram stared blankly toward Max, and Chloe discerned a subtle frustration from her girlfriend. “What’s wrong?”

“Are we leaving the truck here the whole time?” Hyram asked. “I’m only asking because I’m worried about the equipment that got left behind. All the electronics could’ve been fucked with the weather,” Hyram turned and grazed Connor’s arm with his shoulder. “And I feel like the truck would be more useful closer to our halfway point.”

“I’m sorry, next time I’ll be sure to blow the tent up,” Connor replied dismissively, and the frustration settling on Max’s face had now jumped over to Aubrey’s, evidenced by the way she facepalmed.

“I’d be more worried about uh, y’know, my twelve thousand dollar SUV? Or looters? Besides, it’s not going anywhere if it hasn’t already.” The bottle bluenette remarked as Hyram and Connor straightened up. Chloe had to admit, Aubrey was pushing through what should have been one hell of a hangover with no complaints. That was a lot more than Chloe could say about her first time getting hammered.

“That’s true, but hear me out,” he squabbled with Aubrey. By the time he finished his sentence, Chloe could tell it was just Hyram being Hyram.“You had a few bracelets and water bottles left at camp? While almost all the heavy duty stuff came from us. Can’t blame me for being antsy about getting them back.”

“Oh yes, you’re forgetting about the solar charger? That was mine, too.” Aubrey slowly but playfully informed him as she must have realized he was just giving her shit, but by this time Chloe had already frozen up. Upon the mention of one word, one very specific word, she had a rewind of her own; to a time when things were looking up, a time that despite its dangers and risks, was the time of her fucking life.

 _Bracelet_. Like many things she had received from her now-deceased angel, one of Chloe’s most prized possessions had been a hand-crafted bracelet that Rachel gifted to her on her birthday. _I bet Frank felt the same way about his. I can’t stay mad over that, but that hurt too, Rach_. Her bracelet currently rested comfortably around her left wrist, and upon that birthday memory, combined with the flood of so many more of the junkyard, including the very last time she had been here with Max, she couldn’t take it anymore.

While, if she was going to be honest about it, the useless banter continued, Chloe began to lose track of her own actions, walking away in the middle of the conversation. Three steps turned into thirteen, and while she wasn’t cognizant of her body or its movement she knew exactly where she was going. She had no control over it, as if she had been set ablaze from the inside. The sweltering fire in her had no intention of ceasing, until someone grabbed hold of her before she could turn the corner of the tipped boat. Chloe felt Max’s arms wrap around her, intent on stopping her from walking all the way to the dump site.

“Let me go,” Chloe angrily said, already feeling her lover’s arms tremble around her torso. “Please.” This likely turned into an unwanted scene, and that made it even more difficult for Chloe to deny her the affection. She turned and faced the photographer, seeing the panic-stricken countenance. “Did you rewind?”

“Of course,” Max fretted. “I don’t want you to do this alone.”

“So, what happens?” Chloe seethed. “Do I shoot myself in the leg? Does the boat fall on top of me?” Max did not respond, only hugging her tighter. In the background, Chloe could see the three witnesses, all puzzled by the scene unfolding. She paid them no mind and returned the hug, a jumbling mess of feelings overcoming her.

“No. Please, I just want to be here for you,” Max answered.

“If you want,” Chloe hushed and patted her on the back of the head. “It’s not going to be pretty.”

“I know,” Max said, and upon noticing that Connor and Hyram were approaching, Max waved them off. “It’s alright, give us a few minutes.” She returned her gaze up to Chloe, who had never stopped staring at Max. The photographer was still trembling through the embrace, because she knew what Chloe was about to do. “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?”

“It’s the last time I can say goodbye,” Chloe exhaled, losing all the air in her lungs the instant she knew how to reply. Max, peering up into Chloe’s eyes, must have felt the same pain that Chloe had felt when she had doubted herself before they had gone to bed last night. She released Chloe and took her by the hand, and together, the punk and photographer rounded the corner into the junk fields, until Chloe recognized that dreaded spot in the Earth where Rachel Amber had been buried. Right where the stupid crab sign had sat, the grave that had been excavated by Arcadia Bay Police was now half-filled due to repeated rain and debris from the storm. Her body had been long gone along with everyone else in the god damned town. That meant Rachel had received no funeral service, no grave, and no closure at all. Worst of all, it didn’t matter how much investigating Chloe had done when Rachel went missing. Her biological mother named Sera Gearhardt, someone who Chloe thought would have helped, had never resurfaced. The storm blew Chloe’s house to pieces, including all of her momentos along with Rachel’s family. All that was left of Rachel Amber was the fucking bracelet on her wrist.

Out of shock from the events of that October, Chloe had not paid her respects to Rachel before skipping town. Sure, her guilty conscience was flaring up now but it was not like there had been a realistic way to do so, since, once again, nothing had remained. Chloe felt strong enough to do this until she came close enough to recall the foul smell from when she had desperately dug Rachel up with her bare hands, and that was when Chloe’s knees buckled. Max tried to catch her, but instead came down on a knee with her, and Chloe’s eyes were harried by the amount of tears building up. Max’s gorgeous eyes were speaking to her, and Chloe thought Max was about to start sobbing too. _God, please don’t cry too._ The urge to vomit hit pointedly, and she grabbed for her stomach.

Chloe couldn’t get back up, she physically did not have it in her. The impact was far worse than she had anticipated it would be. Even now, in the moment, Chloe could still picture Rachel in her arms, their first kiss right outside of her house, and watching her save Chloe’s life in this exact same place. In an instant, Chloe’s recollections of Rachel corrupted into the image of her six month old rotten corpse discarded in a trash heap.

Her throat began to tighten, and then she was on all fours, convulsing until the sea of bile finally erupted. In the presence of the empty grave, the memory had been too vivid for her to handle. “I loved her,” Chloe whispered as she choked back the urge to continue vomiting. “What kind of world does this?” It had been long enough that she had almost forgotten what Rachel’s sweet voice sounded like, the worst feeling on the fucking planet. Max kept repeating her name in vain, rubbing Chloe’s back as much as she could. She had to feel helpless while comforting Chloe, who pictured how much of a mess she must have looked like.

Rachel was never coming back. They would never get to pack their bags and leave the Bay like they had planned. She would never hear the girl say that she loved Chloe again. She was the only person who had ever completely understood Chloe. They could have shared a room in total silence, and Rachel would have always figured her out like child’s play. That was forever locked away in the their past, because nobody could ever bring that back.

“Know what?” Chloe said abruptly, even while Max held her close. “I remember why I hate this fucking town. Anything remotely good was consumed by total fucking shit and I’m _FUCKING_ glad it’s gone!” Her final sentence came off as a twisted scream, and the only thing that kept her from curling up into a ball was the woman beside her, who was now crying too. Max had come to know Rachel only from what she had heard, the legend of Rachel Amber, but she would never know what it was like to stand beside her, or all the courage she had given Chloe. Even though she hardly knew the girl, Max had still dedicated her time to finding Rachel, and she had never once given up. Max deserved to be right here, as much as Chloe did.

It was unavoidable now, their friends walking in on an absolutely heartbreaking moment. She could already see the shadows emerge from behind the tipped boat, and Max had turned and started shooing them away. _No. Fuck that._ Standing up and balling her fists, Chloe addressed them as well. Given the very personal and sensitive nature of the moment, Chloe felt Max’s reaction was justified. Aubrey had stopped and gained an extremely uncomfortable face, being the person closest to her and Max out of the group. Connor’s face looked like he didn’t know what to say. A let down since he seemed to be the empath of the group. Even Hyram, whose arms hung stiffly at his sides, clearly wanted to do something, but had no idea what to do.

“This is where those mother fuckers buried Rachel, right after they killed her,” she stated, and even Aubrey’s gasp didn’t put pause to her words. “Right fucking here! I just wanted to say it aloud for once. You wanna say goodbye, then do it right here.”

Aubrey became fixated on the shallow grave in utter disbelief, but not before she bumped into an already-shattered TV screen. For Chloe, she had known for years where Rachel had died. Aubrey, though she learned only yesterday, must not have gotten over it yet. The brown-haired Connor approached from her right, and any words of comfort he had intended to give her had been lost. She locked eyes with him, knowing damn well how red and puffy her own were. She didn’t need comfort. She needed to let loose, and in a way that Rachel had unknowingly taught her.

“Let go of me,” Chloe firmly asked Max, and Max shook her head and buried her face into the punk’s back. “Let go of me, Max. Max, damn it!” It took a little resistance as Max tightened her grip, but Chloe slowly peeled Max off of her. “I need a little bit of space for a while, is that fine?”

“I guess,” Max replied, wiping tears from her own expression. “Looks like it ends the same no matter how many times I repeat it.” How many times had Max replayed this, watching Chloe in a fit of agony? Why would she do that to herself? It only fueled Chloe’s overdrive anger further, and she pulled away from Max entirely.

Hyram, entirely confused by the punk’s actions, threw up his arms.“Is there anything we can do?” he inquired, watching her carefully.

“Yeah,” Chloe told him. “Wanna help me find a bat?”

“Like, a baseball bat?” he asked, clarifying.

“Yes. I need this,” she looked him in the eye, and he softened his own. The blaze that had started in her chest had moved throughout the rest of her body. He flitted, allowing his dominant shoulder to guide his movements at first, and then left without further questions. The angrier she got, the more surreal the world around her became. She almost couldn’t see Connor standing awkwardly in the middle of them, or Aubrey still reeling from the bombshell. She would never forget that Max was nearby, but for the moment, with Chloe on the verge of melting down, she needed to excuse herself. The punk frantically observed her surroundings, spotting the tipped boat’s cabin first. She climbed inside of it and rested her head and eyes, feeling incredibly lightheaded.

Nobody came to bother her until Hyram conjured up a bat. To her disappointment, it wasn’t the same bat that she had always kept hidden in the yard, but it would do. When Hyram handed to her and backed away, she ran her hands over the wooden bat, and then she gripped it tightly in both hands. “Where’d you find this?”

“Near that old foundation,” Hyram responded, beckoning with his thumb over his shoulder. “It was propped against a wall.” _So, someone else found their zen by breaking shit in the junkyard._

“Chloe’s gonna need some alone time,” Max remarked hastily, ushering the others away from Chloe. Before they all left, Chloe aimed her bat toward them.

“If you want to stay, then do it.” she commanded them, though by this time Max didn’t hear her, having successfully pushed them away and behind the boat. One person managed to peel away and kept a respectful distance from her.

“What will you do with that bat?” Hyram inquisitively asked her. She wasted no time on elaboration as she raised the bat above her head and smashed the first thing she laid eyes upon. It was hard to choose a target, given the already annihilated state of the junkyard, but Chloe homed in on a dishwasher, smashing it relentlessly until it was a dented shadow of its former shape. _No more fucking crying. I’ve had two years to mope over this._

“This,” Chloe brazenly said. “Fuck everything about Arcadia Bay.” Raising the bat again, she slammed the bat into the remains of a car’s hood, making sure she left a huge dent in that as well. Then, nearly growling as she lunged to the side, she brought the bat down on a displaced street sign, marking it up with repeated swings. “It’s like I told you!” Chloe clamored. With the bat above her head, “life sucks!” Chloe started to beat an old rubber tire until she could feel her arms strain. “And we all die! But,” she bellowed, piercing another discarded TV screen with the bat, “you know how you use your immaturity to hide from your problems? I’ve been pretending everything is okey-dokey for too long.” Chloe swung the bat so hard that it flew out of her hands and she collapsed onto all fours, gasping for air as she rose back to her feet. It was completely and utterly true, she had pretended nothing bad was going to happen ever again. How naive that must sound, that Chloe Price had found a way to be blissfully ignorant. Hyram was in front of her immediately, and she flagged him off. She got back up and scrambled towards the bat.

“Oh man, if you thought I was finished with this fucking place, then you were so wrong,” Chloe said, though she was addressing a ghost rather than the dreadlocked boy standing before her. “How many licks does it deserve before I’m content? We’ve gotta find out!”

“Chill out,” Hyram demanded. “All you’re doing is making me feel like I could be helping you while I stand here uselessly.”

“You aren’t stopping me,” Chloe sharply told him, seizing the bat and then directing it at his chest. “If you did, then you’d be useless.”

“Alright, so you just smash shit for a release?”

“Yes! Hyram, I thought you knew how to thrash.”

“I can’t believe you keep that cooped up inside,” Hyram took the bat out of her hands and brandished it around while Chloe, in an exhaustive stupor, backed away toward the boat cabin. She was too caught up in the feeling to fight him on seizing her weapon. The adrenaline was pumping, even through her tired state, and she felt great.

“Because your life is so hunkey-dorey,” Chloe deadpanned. “My big thing is rage. I haven’t gotten this out in, fuck, years now.” Dismayed as he appeared, Hyram did not drop the bat. “Take for example,” she coughed, reaching into her pocket, “What you just saw.”

She watched Hyram hesitate, keeping the bat poised toward the ground, before he brought it behind his head and swung from the right into a wooden box. The sound of collision left the box crunched, and Hyram had stepped out to keep himself on balance. “I can tell.”

“You can hand back it over if you don’t want it,” Chloe kept her hands in her pockets, watching Hyram continually brandish the bat. He had never released emotion this way before, she could tell. “I could do this for hours.”

“I’ve never done this, and I don’t know if it would actually help,” he half-admitted to himself.

“Just practice saying the words ‘fuck you’ over and over in your head and then just break shit,” she instructed, though it would only be a temporary fix if he found any joy out of it. Hyram’s issues were not anger, but rather grief and a lack of proper outlet for understanding his own feelings. She didn’t know if impulsive was actually a proper word to describe him as, considering it was only his mouth and not necessarily what he did.

She backed away carefully, still lightheaded and slightly tired until she felt the cold metal of the boat’s cabin roof. It was tempting to collapse against it and doze off, but she knew that she was already taking enough time away from their quest. Instead, she pulled out her lighter yet again and searched for her cigarettes.

Walking over to a scraped yellow mass that Chloe eventually realized was a tipped tractor, Hyram took his turn and raised the bat above his head. The boy brought it down with the force of both arms, leaving a hefty mark across the top of the tractor. Hyram did it a few more times, before he created an uproarious crack as the baseball bat snapped into two pieces from the sheer force of his final strike. It prevented Chloe from taking her first drag and she instead watched him, noting that he was breathless and shaking.

“Good shit,” she said, as he slowly ambled up and also pressed his back against the boat’s cabin. “Felt good to let it all out for a change?” He looked down at his hands as he dropped the broken bat by their side, and even if Chloe was still a little absentminded at the moment, she knew he was mesmerized by his own strength.

“I don’t know what that was, or what I was feeling,” Hyram dropped both of his hands flatly against the top of the cabin. He cricked his neck and, for reasons she didn’t care enough about to figure out, slouched and slid down until he was sitting on the ground.

“I’ll be the first to say it,” Chloe casually stated, an interesting change of pace from her depressive episode. “Using my anger to deal with shit is not the greatest idea, but I’ll be lying if I say it didn’t feel so fulfilling.”

“I can see how,” he said, reaching for the broken bat he had dropped beside them. He started to eye her cigarette, and feeling guilty about Aubrey’s fun night, she wouldn’t even think about offering. “Can I get a drag?” _God damn it._

She reached down to pass him the cigarette, and the boy took it with his own hands and deeply inhaled the fumes. Cigarettes were her worst vice, which was probably something to be proud of considering a lot of the people she had outlived. Definitely something for the both of them to be proud of, given Hyram’s admission of experimentation and her health. Chloe joined him on the ground, and just propped back against the roof and closed her eyes. The sun would be up at its highest point soon, and even in the cold weather, she was the warmest she had been in a while.

In the distance, probably right behind the boat, she could hear her father’s old Polaroid camera’s mechanical print sound. Max just did an autosave, from the sound of it. She wanted to be back in bed, pressed up against her little hippie, without the weight of the world on their backs.

“Hey,” Hyram let the excess smoke flow out of his nostrils. “I just wanted to say, I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through. I’m sorry, more than I can say. When my mom died, I spent nights and nights wondering how I could have changed it.”

“You aren’t always an asshole, you know that?” Chloe replied, still resting her eyes. “Shit happens, I get that.”

“And you aren’t always a crazy bitch,” Hyram said, handing her back her cigarette. Before continuing her habit, she returned a look of arrogance, as she had at the bar.

“Oh yes I am,” Chloe declared with total certainty.

“My bad then, crazy bitch,” the both of them shared a heartfelt laugh before she took her next drag off the cigarette. “What we do today, we’re doing together.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Chloe told him. “I’m stuck with you all.” Yeah, she had figured it out then and there. Living with Max, the lifestyle that they had achieved in LA, was peaceful enough, but this was the calmest she had felt in about a year. It wasn’t what she had pictured, which was running off with both Max and Rachel for a happy ending, but it was what she had. She wouldn’t lose anything else; not Max, and— _you know what? Fuck it, they are_ —not her newfound friends too, and definitely not the world.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard chapter to write as I wanted it to be the final proper farewell Chloe got for Rachel. She never actually says 'goodbye' of course, because Rachel isn't there. She isn't coming back. Chloe needs to move on in order to be happy. This was also, a large throwback to Episode One "Awakened" from Before the Storm, hence the name. Once again, feed back much appreciated. Thanks to my beteareader TheOV!
> 
> Revised 7/11/18


	14. Miscalculations

**Chapter 14: Miscalculations**

 

“Past noon already,” Hyram whistled, ducking around the remnants of an alleyway, with Chloe and Aubrey already ahead of him. The destroyed town was sort of familiar territory by this point, since the cameraman had originally driven Aubrey’s SUV through it, and that wasn’t counting his on foot excursion at the very beginning. He was not happy, nor enthralled as he had been then, merely on edge and trying to lighten the mood. He had been this way since the sight of Rachel Amber’s apparent resting site—or former, and he was still trying to process exactly how it all made him feel. It had also been a little while since they had split from Connor and Max, who were probably close to the school by now. If everything went according to plan, they wouldn’t be separated long.

“You better not have turned your phone back on,” Chloe lightly chastised him, before he grinned at the assertion.

“Can’t tell time the old fashioned way?” Hyram raised his fingers and blocked out his view of the sun. “See, before clocks we had to look at the sun and its shadow.”

“What are you, a fucking boy scout?” Chloe remarked after peering over her shoulder at his gesture. The punk had changed her attitude as soon as they had left the junkyard, probably still recovering from the rush of painful memories regarding Rachel Amber. To her immediate right, Aubrey wore a hollow smile over his small talk. Aubrey had not handled the burial site well, either. The composed demeanor she had kept since then was laudable.

“I think he made it into cub scouts, at least,” irreverently said the editor.

“I just picked it up along the way,” he calmly replied, on the verge of faltering. “I figured it would be useful one day, when society breaks down and we don’t have technology to save us.”

“I can’t fucking wait,” Chloe dryly stated as she halted, bending her arms and revealing the handgun she already had handy in case of emergency. It was a staunch, but troubling reminder that they were lurking ever closer to serious danger. He had to take a moment and admire the violet-haired Chloe, even more so after her “break shit’ episode at the junkyard. He was so glad that the first impression he gotten of her had been wrong: rather than an uncommitted mystery with secrets, she turned out to be completely devout to the mission and transparent about herself and her feelings. There were things that she and Max had not divulged, that much was still clear, but he had no further reason to distrust Chloe especially. _Well, I guess an end of the world and a girlfriend with three years on you can do that to you._

“How are we holding up?” Aubrey asked, a tinge of worry in the checkup. She often took the responsibility, when Connor wasn’t around, of being concerned with the team’s well-being. Her question had been directly aimed at Hyram, and he started to wonder why she was singling him out.

“I’m okay, are you okay?” Hyram glanced toward Chloe, who returned what appeared to be a nod. Her focus was obviously, and in his opinion, thankfully, being used to navigate safely through Arcadia Bay. His urban exploration experience had nothing on a place that could become an active shooter situation again.

“All good here,” she said after delay, and they ambled out from the alleyway to a large lot. “Shit, we’re at the laundromat. Anybody have quarters to spare?” Before anyone could give her a decent reply, she dropped to a crouch and they each followed.

“What?” Aubrey whispered, trying to see over Chloe’s studded jacket’s shoulders. Hyram had height on them both, so he had no trouble making out the sight ahead. He wasn’t quite sure whether they were looking at good or bad news. Tucked behind a building across the street, was, as anyone would have guessed by now, a black sedan that was a perfect match for the detectives’ vehicle. “Oh, shit.”

“Let’s make sure we’re alone, shall we?” Chloe gradually rose, though she maintained a readied pose. Hyram considered her thought ridiculous; of course they weren’t alone, the damn car was right in front of them. Steadily, he emerged from the alley into the open parking lot after ascertaining that there were no prying eyes as far as he could tell. Chloe had taken a path to their left, with Aubrey right behind her, and Hyram finally behind Aubrey. At least they found this early on in their trek, because despite the potential threats, he had started to lose focus. Now, this was motivating enough to keep his attention on the surrounding area. It was easy to be lulled into a false sense of security in a place that was similar to so many other abandoned locations he’d explored before. On top of this, Hyram had also found his technology dependency crying without his phone.

Seeing nobody at the farthest left street from one side to the other, they turned their attention to the parking lot.The destroyed buildings weighed heavily on Hyram’s shoulders, and he found himself checking each of them twice over. They then made it back to the alleyway where they had emerged from, towards the other road and saw nothing to indicate that the PI’s were around. _For the time being, let’s hope it stays that way._

“Max,” Aubrey spoke into their radio, the few seconds of static afterward filling the silence around them.

“Go ahead,” Connor replied through the radio.

“We found the PIs’ car, checking the area to see if they’re around,” chimed in Aubrey, as Chloe started marching toward the car, keeping her gun chest level. Hyram felt pressured to stick with her and beckoned Aubrey to keep going, and she complied after receiving an unclear transmission. “Please repeat.”

“Max wants you to be careful,” Connor answered her. “Is the engine warm?”

“Stand by,” Aubrey replied, and Hyram suspected she was having fun playing officer with her radio etiquette. Chloe, upon hearing the question from the back of their group, ran her hand along the hood of the car and shook her head. Rocket science was not required to tell the car hadn’t budged for at least a day, covered in leaves.

“Not warm at all. It’s been here overnight,” she surmised. “That’s a little spooky.”

“Negative,” Aubrey responded over the radio. “Chloe thinks that it’s been here for a while.”

“How long is a while?” Connor responded, and Hyram tried to hide the amusement as Aubrey tilted her head back and raised the radio up to her lips.

“Long enough, Connor. We can try to finagle ourselves in, if you want.” _And just like that, CSI: San Bernardino, canceled after the pilot episode._

“If you do, don’t take too long,” Connor reminded them of their time constraints, although Hyram’s immediate thoughts formulated into a humorous assertion about how they technically had all the time in the world with Max’s rewind ability.

Once they gathered around the car, Chloe lightly gripped the driver’s door handle. When she matched gazes with Hyram and Aubrey, Chloe thought twice about it. “Let’s just assume it’s locked,” she decided, stepping back and examining the car thoroughly. No doubt she hadrealized that door checking could’ve set off an alarm.

“So, how are we breaking in?” Hyram queried brazenly at the punk. Chloe must have already had an idea as she walked from one end of the car to the other. Although both Hyram and Chloe were apprehensive, the bluenette went prone next to the wheels. As she reached underneath the car, he thought that it wasn’t quite the idea he had going on. “Uh, Aub, the lock’s above you.”

“My father hides an extra key underneath his wheel skirt,” she replied, her voice resonating under the car. He waited for results on her end, but instead witnessed her pull herself out from underneath the car. Her faux blue hair from Chloe’s dye was now messy and unkempt, and the nonplussed face was enough for him to gather she was empty-handed. “It was worth a shot.”

“Yes,” Chloe mused, sarcastically throwing her palms onto her forearms. “Two special agents keep a spare key in the wheel. Nobody would have found it but you, huh?”

“Don’t need to be a bitch all the time,” Aubrey stood up on her knees, shooting the violet punk a trivial expression. “I already have to deal with his shit.” Upon that remark, Hyram’s eyes were rolling.

“You’re kind of cute when you fight back,” Chloe retorted. “No wonder lover boy here won’t shut up. Find me a wedge and a rod.”

“I see you’ve done this before?” Hyram snickered, surveying their surroundings for anything that would remotely fit the bill for Chloe’s ingredients. He understood what she had in mind, planning to pry the door panel open enough that they could fish for the lock button on the interior.

“Never question my auto mechanic wisdom,” Chloe warned, waving her gun around boldly. Better her than someone else waving it around, Hyram guessed. “I mean it.”

It wasn’t the first time Hyram had used this technique to get into someone’s vehicle, although this would be the first time it would be of benefit. He checked inside of the old laundromat, finding plenty of broken pieces of wood but none suitable enough to act as a wedge for their devious task. The lines of broken washing machines, with all of their nuts and bolts intact, struck him as odd. The first thing he would have done as a looter was dismantle machinery that had been abandoned, and with so many washers and dryers present, the temptation would have been all too much. In the very back of the building, he found signs of life in the form of a poorly sprayed dragon on the peeling wall.

“Welp,” Hyram exhaled exaggeratedly. “At least it isn’t phallic. Or explicit.” Urban exploration was filled with repulsive street art, and Aubrey’s blog had its fill of inappropriate graffiti. Once again, he cursed at the fact that he had smashed his camera over Olhouser’s head, and it was yet another pinch in his side over his irritability while deprived of technology. “Oh right. Metal rod, wedge.”

Exiting out the front of the building, Hyram moved toward the cracked pavement and gaped across the street. As it had been when he entered the building, the area outside was ominously empty except for the three of them. He already saw Aubrey searching through a trash heap across the parking lot with her bare hands, and he felt kind of grossed out and sorry for her. She didn’t _have_ to go that far.

“Boo,” Chloe said from behind him, giving the cameraman a jolt. Her withheld satisfaction acted like a thief, stealing his own smile from right off of his face. “You find anything yet?”

“Just Puff back there,” he signaled with his hand to the magical dragon graffiti. “I’m about to hop over to the other side of the road.”

“Good, ‘cause I think I see our rod already,” she said as she walked ahead of him toward an open building across the street. The old-style cobblestone on its wall was definitely for show, as there were many spots in the wall where the flat surface behind it had been exposed to the outside world. The fake stones had been ostensibly attached to the wall modularly, as if someone had glued them on to it. As for the missing pieces, they were scattered about the area. However, what Chloe had homed in on was an exposed piece of rebar just hanging sturdily high above them from a second story window. How rebar had made its way up there, he could only guess it had come from a parking block that had been tossed into the building at some point during the storm. “Next question: how the fuck do we yank that loose?”

“Can we get inside the building?” Hyram probed, considering how much the rebar could weigh. “Is it even thin enough for the door?”

“It’ll work,” Chloe grimaced. “Let’s hustle.”

“Aye to that,” Hyram replied, climbing over the broken cobble and jetting inside of the building. He had figured the person with the firearm should remain vigilant instead of trying to navigate through a ransacked structure. He looked back to see Chloe, with her back already to him, scoping the area out once more. When there, he realized smashed glass was everywhere and he was standing in the remains of a once-novel looking liquor store. _I bet Chloe knew this place well._ He searched the many desecrated rooms until he found a staircase that led up to a torn up home unit above the store. Whoever had owned this store had lived directly above it. That must have made keeping track of it way simpler.

“I’m waiting out here,” Chloe was barely audible through the cracked floor and smashed window. At the top of the staircase, he felt the breeze roll in through the second floor and saw their big problem: the rebar was still protruding from the parking block, teetering on the edge of the window itself. If he pushed it back out the window, the impact might be loud enough to attract attention from blocks away. It could also fragment and hit Chloe, and that would be a pretty shitty outcome.

“The parking block is half intact. I’m concerned about how to do this,” Hyram began to advise her. “This thing’s gonna shatter and could hurt you, and if Thing One and Thing Two didn’t know we were here, they sure as shit would.” _If they were here, of course._

Chloe’s response was late, as Hyram heard the shuffling of birds above him in the skeleton of the attic. “So there’s no way to get that rebar out?”

“I just said we can do it, but we’re gonna be loud,” he reiterated.

“Ugh. Bombs away then,” Chloe said impatiently. _Alright, I’ll just go fuck myself with my worries._ Hyram grunted and, peeking out the nook between the cement and the window frame to verify that she had moved out of the blast zone, pushed it loose. Seconds later, the crackle of shattered cement rang out followed by a clangor from the rebar hitting the pavement. It had not been nearly as loud as he was afraid, but still pretty damn compromising if anyone willing to hurt them were hanging out nearby. _Dear God, prove me wrong. That totally echoed across the town._

When he felt the sun baring down on his skin again, Chloe was already hard at work trying to bend the rebar into an acceptable shape; his handiwork had not completely shattered the block, and if they were still adamant on using it to get in the car, this had to become a team effort. Hyram took the rebar with both hands and, while she pressed down with her boots, the rebar curved upwards.

Together, they lifted what was left of the steel and cement and hauled it back to the back of the laundromat. Due to the size of this block and the rebar inside of it, it wasn’t overwhelmingly heavy, but keeping it from dragging across the pavement and causing even more noise was a challenge. Setting it against the exterior wall to the laundromat, Chloe inspected their work, making minor adjustments in the steel until it was more L-shaped than curved. Hyram looked about for Aubrey, seeing she was now absent from the last place he had spotted her. It took a short amount of time to locate her walking back, full of herself for the faded wooden wedge in her hands.

“Wow,” Hyram conceded that she had dazzled him. “You found an _actual_ wedge?”

“It’s a doorstop,” she winked, and they both rushed back over to the sedan where Chloe was poised, her countenance testy. This detour might be worth the plunder once they hooked up with Connor and Max.

“Good job,” Chloe said, handling the rebar without giving Aubrey a second to waste. “Hyram, on the back. Aubrey, wedge it up.” Aubrey obliged her by sticking the pointed edge of the old doorstop between the car’s frame and the plastic wrap around the door. She twisted it around a bit until the door itself created a space large enough to slide the steel through. Chloe noticed that Hyram was having too much fun as they tried to mutually align the rebar. “What are you smiling at?”

“My youngest brother, Demarcus, helped me get into some bully’s car from high school the same way,” Hyram asserted, with Chloe dismissively looking back to the door. “We filled his AC vent with some foul concoction he got off of the net. Dude’s car smelled like shit for months, he got dumped, everything.”

“I wish I could walk away from this conversation,” Aubrey leveled, keeping the doorstop perfectly angled as the rebar threatened to crash into it. Hyram’s arms were wobbling, having to lift the rebar and block above his head, but Chloe was a fuckin’ champion in comparison. He was starting to break a sweat while she had no problems whatsoever. It might have been easier if they weren’t afraid of scratching up the car, and then again, why would they be? _Fuck this car._ Hyram leaned in against the car, allowing the cement to rest on it’s roof. This was poorly received, as Aubrey glared at him angrily. Before she could open her mouth, Chloe unknowingly interrupted her.

“What’d he do to your brother?” she coughed immediately after the question pushing the steel bar in through the crease farther and farther. They were ostensibly shy of the lock button, and Hyram found himself creeping closer to the woman by necessity of keeping the cement block upward. He had been worrying about why Aubrey was giving him the stink eye, but that didn’t stop him from remembering the day his little brother had come home completely devastated, feeling like he had no one in the world that cared about him.

“He punched his face blue,” Hyram said, with any emotion intended to accompany the sentence buried under vexation from the task at hand. “The shitstain got off lucky, if you ask me.”

“I would have tagged up the insides and the body,” Chloe also vexed. “That’s just my style. A big middle finger, or a big ole’ dick.”

“It’s finally weighing on me that we’re actually breaking into a car,” Aubrey admitted as Chloe groaned in frustration. Whatever problem she had with the cement on the car must have slipped her mind. The button only eluded her by mere inches.

“Technically, I’m armed. That makes this a felony,” Chloe thrusted as much as she could, the inches separating them turning into centimeters. Hyram proffered as much length as he could with the rebar, and Chloe’s aim finally made the steel touch the door. With one more thrust, they flicked the locks. “Alright, cadets. Phase one complete,” she yanked the rebar out and, with Hyram’s help, they sat it down and began to breathe easy. “Shit, we didn’t pack any water.”

“I didn’t need a reminder,” Hyram complained, his throat still dry from all the beer. Water would be so refreshing right now, with his aching muscles and all.“What do we have inside?” As he asked, Aubrey pulled open the door and the odd scent of lavender hit his nose. _Okay, so Mr. Wright likes lavender._ Aubrey jumped into the front seat, ushered in by Chloe who occasionally pried her eyes off of their surroundings to keep up with the investigation about to unfold inside the car. As soon as he heard the clicking sound, Hyram hurried around to the front passenger’s side and opened the door, eager to get in on the scoop. As he sat down in the faux leather, he adjusted the seat to give him more leg space and, bracing as the seat rolled back on it’s rails, opened up the glove compartment. Aubrey was already deep in examining the center console, and gathering what she could from the back seat. If she had at all looked to the open glove box, then she would have gotten the same restlessness Hyram received upon seeing the worn pistol underneath a bunch of tissues and papers. He would’ve missed it if the light hadn’t glinted across the exposed chamber.

“Would you look at that?” Aubrey reached across the dash and into the glove box, but the informal tone coupled with the dark burner phone she sought brought a skeptical curl to his lips.

“You went after the phone and not the gun,” he declared, dispirited. The bluenette only stared incredulously until she had her moment of realization and reached back across and uncovered the rest of the pistol.

“My bad,” she said, though her blank face made it seem hardly like an apology. She raised the burner up so that both Chloe and Hyram could see it. “Who do you think makes calls to them?”

“Let’s open it up,” Chloe suggested as Aubrey flipped open the old-styled cell phone. The battery was low, but as Hyram adjusted his seating to get a better view he noticed that certain somebodies had not erased their conversations.

 

_March 15_ _th_ _???_

_Any problems, Hugo?_

_User_

_You’ve got the wrong number. I have no idea who that is._

_March 16_ _th_ _???_

_Sorry._

_User_

_Answering your question, the target is wounded but not dead. I’ve been staking him out. Unexpected complications have arisen._

_???_

_Unexpected complications?_

_User_

_Three kids were who got us into Prescott’s backyard bunker._

_???_

_I hear one of them is an Artemis._

_User_

_I really wish you’d stop undermining me on this mission._

_???_

_So its true! And I thought your target was the worst of it. What about Leanne, is she doing okay?_

_User_

_If you don’t stop doing that, then I’m going to burn this phone in an incinerator and you’ll never hear from me again._

_???_

_Okay, point taken. I’m nervous._

_???_

_Did you get them?_

_User_

_No, I did not. Frankly, I’m not convinced they’re a threat and neither is my partner._

_???_

_I thought Veracruz taught you better than that. An Artemis, not a threat?_

_User_

_My partner and I are both freelance, we do not work for your people any more. That means I can make this call, and trust me when I say they’re a bunch of scared kids. It also means you need to stop influencing my partner. I wanted to see if they knew too much before jumping to harsh solutions._

_???_

_My hands are tied over here. The organization can’t spare the resources to chase your target and Yatagarasu is all over the place. Just get_ _Kristine_ _what you can on Prescott so we can_ _rub_ _her_ _out of the picture and please god be careful when dealing with the old man._

_???_

_Just yesterday I swear someone was tailing me to the secretariat building. We had a pipebomb go off in the harbor. Everyone’s feeling scared here._

_User_

_Keep your head low. See if AD can get a detail. I’ll let you know when everything is wrapped up here._

_???_

_Please be safe out west. I’ll hold the fort over here._

_User_

_Acknowledged._

 

“Who the fuck do these people work for? It is the Prescotts or not?” Aubrey’s auspicious outburst earned a shush from Chloe, but then she handed the punk the phone so she could see it too. Watching Chloe’s sudden shift from being on guard to slight paranoia, Hyram got the same vibe from the messages. They were ‘freelance’ but working for somebody in a high place. Code words like ‘Yatagarasu’ and ‘Artemis’ also had him feeling spooked. Connor was the Artemis. _How many fucking people are there like him and Max if they had to create a code word for it?_ Olhouser was the ‘target’, the ‘old man’.

“What else did you find?” Chloe asked, her free hand gripping the top of the car as she came closer to Aubrey inside. In response, Aubrey pointed back to the seats behind them.

“The Prescott papers they stole from us are back there, and a map with a big red circle on it. It’s in the same area as those GPS points,” she pulled the monstrous map out from the back seat and laid it out against the windshield for the three of them to see. Hyram followed the red line from a road on the map that went straight out to a remote property. Written inside of the circled area was “Harry Prescott Barn”.

“No, oh fucking no,” Chloe abruptly murmured. “He’s squatting out in the dark room?” Chloe’s free hand ran through her hair and under her beanie before she rested it on her brow.

“What is the dark room?” Aubrey’s inquiry was met with a strangely animalistic look from the punk, whose hands had both returned to her gun. Hyram was so lost with the new information, but he too was starting to get very creeped out. It wasn’t good if Chloe, of all people, was scared over this.

“Get. The fuck. Out of my car.” Hyram recognized the volatile tone of the woman they were all afraid of running into. About four yards from them, Detective Barry, in plain clothes, had her gun drawn on Chloe before the punk could raise hers in response. “Ahah,” Ashton warned. “I’d rather not shoot you, so please comply.”

The cameraman snapped to Aubrey’s horrified face, and weighed their options. He knew Chloe had at least the knife in her boot beside the gun, Aubrey didn’t have anything on her, but he did have the pistol. _Fuck man, the whole point of Chloe coming with us was to prevent this from happening!_

“Don’t think I stuttered,” the detective remarked, her gun temporarily aiming away from Chloe and to the car. “Please, get out of my car. The taxi fare to get here was ridiculous and you don’t want to see what kind of mood I’m in.”

“Your mood’s obvious, Leanne!” Chloe called. Hyram watched Ashton revile the punk and she stepped forward fast, keeping her gun directly on Chloe’s head, while taking away the punk’s own. “Fucking psycho.” The detective’s real name was Leanne, as it said in the burner phone.

“Funny, how close you have been to me this whole time,” she told them. “I remember you. Here’s a warning, punk-ass: you are snooping in places you really don’t want to be.”

“Likewise,” Chloe replied with disrespect, and Hyram once again looked back at the pistol inside of the glove compartment. Maybe he wouldn’t have to kill her, but just force her to disarm. If he could somehow get out of the car with it in hand without being shot, that was. By this time, Aubrey had started to get out of the car, and if he were to have any chance at pulling the gun on her, he had to do it right now. He slowly grabbed the gun and pulled himself out of the car, as steadily as he could, before pulling his right hand up over the windshield. Leanne’s barrel snapped to him in an instant, and although it had been abrupt, she growled in agitation at him.

“Let us go and drop the guns,” Hyram demanded, and while the detective had been caught off guard by the sudden appearance of a Roscoe, a genuine cackle erupted from her lips. His expression hardened, adjusting his footing and keeping the gun pointed at the detective. “You think I’m kidding?”

As if this was a sick game, Leanne threw one of her arms across Chloe’s shoulders, while aiming the other gun at a shaking Aubrey. The punk looked ready to throw the invasive arm off, but she was pulled in close, Leanne’s arm now around her neck with a gun digging into her bosom. “I do. You drop the gun, shoot, or stop wasting my time.” The very thought that she was taunting him, while holding them hostage, was beyond infuriating. As if studying his flustered face, she screamed at him. “Take the shot!”

Click. Nothing. Hyram realized that he had to be the sorriest, most idiotic person on the entire planet to draw a weapon that he had not first inspected. It was impossible to tell if the gun was loaded by sight alone. However, the chamber of this gun, which he had just cycled by pulling the trigger, was empty. The reason why Leanne had been so sure he wouldn’t win was because the gun hadn’t been _loaded_ from the get go _._ This oversight could have cost him his life and that of his two friends. Never mind the fact that he had just pulled the trigger of a pistol for the first time in his life, and the thought of killing another human being had previously been exactly that: just a thought, never an action he would perform. The ramifications of such an action had bounced across his mind immediately afterward, and seeing the detective’s sudden brace followed by the frown reminded him that this was still a person just like him.

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” the detective briskly said, the grin on her face flattening. “But you’ve wasted enough of my time. You’re going to walk over here and join us, but not before you put that gun on the roof of the car. Do this in ten seconds, or your suicide girl here gets hurt.”

Hyram, sending as much of an ‘I’m sorry’ expression as he could at Chloe and Aubrey, slid the gun onto the top of the vehicle. Leanne smiled with teeth way too white to be natural, and the cameraman raised his hands and roughly, one step at a time, made his way to the driver’s side of the car. Once he was there, indignantly staring back to the detective, she brought her wrath down on him by striking him across his head with one of the guns. A sharp pain rolled over his temple and his vision went completely white for a moment as he staggered against the hood of the car, his hands gripping the edges. Once he was able to stand again, he grabbed for the throbbing bump on the left side of his head, feeling the blood. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chloe’s brow sharpen, and if he knew anything about her, she was ready to tear the detective apart.

“That’s for pulling the trigger. Cross me again, and I promise. A bloody head is the least of your worries.” The detective backed two steps away, before Chloe seemed to move her right foot toward the crazed woman. Leanne brought both of her guns back up to Chloe and Aubrey, stopping the punk’s idea. “Now. You three are going to cooperate for a change. I didn’t come all this way just to shoot you. But you’re making this difficult, especially since you just broke into our car,” she steadily but eloquently said.

“Fuck off,” Chloe spat, and while Leanne turned her head and shot a shitty, nonverbal cue Hyram couldn’t see at the violet-haired girl, she raised one gun to her brow, as if wiping her forehead.

“Look, we got off to a bad start,” Leanne said. “I’m sorry I’ve been pretty aggressive, but that’s how it is. You’re going to submit to restraints, and then we’re going to deal with this issue and be done with the problem.” Hyram recalled his suspicion that she was, for some reason, terrified of them in reality. Could she really believethat they’re all powered, like Connor? Better yet, what the fuck happened to make her this antsy?

While he was still holding his face and fighting back the absolutely throbbing pain in his temple, Hyram wanted to return the favor and pummel the shit out of her. “Yeah, because you’re just gonna tag and release us into the wild. You’re compensating for something, lady.” _This bitch is so lucky I broke that bat, because otherwise it would be with me right now._

“Get up,” she ordered him, and he ignored the demand. “I said, get the fuck up!” she leveled the gun to point directly at his chest, sinking the tip of the barrel into his shirt. In fairness, the pain was overwhelming and it prevented him from clearly reacting, but he was perfectly aware that he was giving her a hard time. Playing this off, he continued ignoring her until she came into Chloe’s personal space and rested an elbow on the punk’s left shoulder. A beyond friendly gesture in most situations, she once again asserted her dominance over the three of them in a way that was absolutely unsettling. He couldn’t keep testing her, with how she had proven in the past that she meant business, and used both arms to pull himself up. “How about this,” Leanne proposed, rather out of the blue. “I promise I’ll explain what I can when I can. But understand: You aren’t walking away until I say so. I own you until I’m finished here.”

“That before or after the mind wipe?” Chloe’s snide reply only looked to amuse the detective, and she placed the back of either palm—still holding a gun—against her forehead.

“Come on, you don’t _really_ think I work for the government, do you?” As she exaggerated her motions, Hyram eyed Chloe, who returned the gaze. There was still something they could do left, and his eyes moved from hers to the rebar and cement on the ground behind her. Aubrey had also caught on to their last minute chance to escape but was too occupied with the volatile woman to understand completely. Chloe nodded, her cheek scrunching up in determination. This was what Max would want, right? The rebar wouldn’t kill the detective, but it might hurt like hell and knock her out like a shattered light. _It’s gonna hurt her a lot more than she hurt me._

Chloe ducked down to reach for the rebar, throwing Leanne’s arm off of her, and when the detective twitched, Hyram threw his shoulder into her. Leanne stumbled, and he took this chance to grab one of her wrists and grapple with the gun. As soon as he got hold of her left, her right slammed into his stomach and within an instant, a loud, piercing noise deafened the cameraman and an irritating, burning sensation traveled through his gut.

 _Oh, fuck!_ Once it dawned on him that he had been shot, he wobbled backwards, seeing Chloe and Leanne in a frightening standoff. She had also shot but missed the punk sprawled out on the ground, her hands close to grabbing the rebar. He observed Aubrey hauntingly staring at his wound, and Chloe gritting her teeth while her eyes darted back and forth between everyone. Hyram wondered how dumbstruck he must have looked, but the blood from his stomach had started to flow. It wasn’t like he had thought a gunshot would feel like. He didn’t have any sharp, resounding pain, and he wasn’t paralyzed. Instead, everything burned and he found it increasingly difficult to move.

The dawning moment, a reasonable line of thought, came to mind: _Am I going to die? After doing nothing with my life, that’s just it?_ He hated sentimentality in the middle of more pressing matters. He had let Connor down, and Max. He had let down every single person in his life, those right in front of him and those still suffering in Cleveland. If the searing feeling hadn’t been so pronounced, he might have started to shed tears. That’s how overpowering it had started to get. Instead of tears, he settled onto his hands and knees.

From his left, he heard Aubrey press the button on the radio attached to her hip, and she screamed so loud that he was sure that Connor and Max had to hear it from miles away, “Max rewind! Hyram shot, laundromat!” Following this was the noise of a scuffle, and he managed to direct his gaze up to see Leanne wrestling the radio out of her hands, tossing it onto the ground, and then shot it.

“God damn it! Why did you have to do that?” Leanne covered her incensed face with one of her arms. “None of this would have fucking happened, fuck! Fuck!”

 _I can’t die. That’s not an option._ Any trepidation he had was consumed by heat; the burning feeling had overcome him, and it was the only thing he could think bout. He found it harder and harder to move his limbs. Chloe’s petrified, gaping mouth told him all he needed to know about what she was thinking. He didn’t have the energy to check on Aubrey, but Hyram tried to push himself up with the remaining strength he had. Just as he thought he might be able to pull it off, everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It did take some balls to write this chapter. But if you think that was bad, wait for the next two.
> 
> Revised 7/11/18


	15. Hypervigilance

**Chapter 16: Killing Me Softly**

 

The back seat of the black sedan had looked uncomfortable to first glance, but Chloe never had envisioned herself sitting back there, or that she would be hunched forward with her legs tucked between her restrained wrists. The detective had used zip ties, and they were so tight that any wiggling left her wrist numb and raw. To the right of Chloe, Aubrey was also shamefully restrained, her vibrantly green eyes crying for help. Had she not been gagged, Chloe thought she might have been on the verge of crying. Neither of them had made a sound since Detective Leanne promised they would share in Hyram’s fate if they so much as whimpered at her. There was no redeeming this woman. _The only person who’ll be whimpering is you when I get these stupid fucking ties off._

The punk had also lost her skullcap, or rather, she had lost it in the scuffle over the rebar and Leanne left it behind, but not before holding them at gun point to pick up and carry Hyram’s unconscious body behind the wall where the car had been parked. With how badly he had been bleeding, receiving no medical attention meant he would die. And this piece of shit in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel and the other adjusting the radio to play some old time garbage, didn’t care at all. To her, Hyram was just another person who had crossed her, a nobody to be disposed of when things didn’t go her way. Chloe’s wrists were in pain from the zip-ties digging into the skin, but it did nothing to suppress the sheer outrage boiling in her chest, threatening to spill out.

“Your fingerprints are all over his body,” Leanne spoke up over over the jazz now playing through the crap speakers, and if Chloe could have seen her face to face, she would have found a way to spit the gag out and speak her mind, which she had been working at for a few minutes already. “I’m your only getting out of this.” She adjusted the rear-view mirror and Chloe could spot the sharp features of the short-haired blonde, glaring at her so intensely that it became hard to keep the eye contact going. “Shot from a gun that also bears your prints.”

 _You shot him! Don’t you fucking dare, you mother fucking piece of shit!_ Chloe wanted to scream at her, and had to settle for a lot of angry grunting behind the gag that came out as incomprehensible curses. The detective, satisfied with the rise she got out of Chloe, snickered and her eyes returned to the dirt road. The punk suspected the road their driver was following would lead them to either Detective Wright or Hugh Olhouser. It didn’t matter to her either way.

Chloe craned her neck to check on Aubrey, who was still rightfully terrified and trembling all over. Chloe, for all the crazy and dangerous situations she had been through, was also terrified. This was one of those experiences she would never want to relive once over. It didn’t beat finding her lover’s corpse, or a whole town going down, but it was still up there. The feelings of terror, however, were minuscule in comparison to the bloody murder she was plotting in her head. All she needed was for Detective Leanne to keep rambling, and then she’d be paying for one little misstep she made before they were taken prisoner. Who gave a fuck if she was terrified of them? Even cowards could gloat. Chloe flexed her fingers and hands, ensuring she still had feeling and slowly edged up toward the top of her left boot. When Leanne had given them a pat-down, she had been dumb enough to forget about Chloe’s boots, and the large knife tucked next to her ankle.

“You lost your chance to get off Scott-free,” Leanne continued giving them the shakedown, _the help me or you’re fucked_ ploy, as if she even had to. They were already tagged and collared, at her mercy, and yet she kept on going. Chloe almost expected her to reveal her plan to them like one of the old cartoon villains. “E-Even with the fake blue hair, you match your driver’s license, Miss Snyders. As for you, I’m going to find out sooner or later.” _Fat chance you find out before I curb stomp your ass_. “We were _talking_ , why the fuck couldn’t you have just cooperated?”

Having had enough of that train of thought, Chloe finally used her tongue and teeth to force the cloth gag off and indignantly mouthed off to the driver. “Talking doesn’t involve threatening innocent fucking people with a firearm! Fuck you, you unhinged fucking psychopath.”

“You’re far from innocent or harmless. You lost the gag,” Leanne remarked with a dry chuckle, and Chloe watched her right hand leave the wheel and grip Chloe’s old handgun resting in the cup holder. The detective hesitated, releasing the weapon and leaving it in it’s place. Instead, she swallowed a huge gulp of air, shoulders rising and falling. “Damn it.”

Truth be told, Chloe was stuck on why this woman was so deranged. Also truth be told, Chloe didn’t give a _fuck_ how much she was threatened by Leanne anymore and easily spotted the way the woman’s arm couldn't stay still—Detective Leanne was shaking, still freaked out from killing their friend. If she had _wanted_ to kill them, she would have done it. No, this bitch somehow believed that she could coerce them into helping her plot, whatever it might be.

“Fucking,” Leanne paused, pulling the gun away from Chloe’s forehead. “God, damn it,” Leanne growled through her teeth. “Mr. Auteberry didn’t need to die. That was all you, trying to rush me.”

 _I did not get him killed, you did._ The punk, having had enough of the bastard’s insinuating tuned it out and shot Aubrey an urgent gesture with her chin. Aubrey was attentively focused on her instead of Leanne, and when Chloe motioned down to her boots, the bottle bluenette didn’t immediately catch on to the plan that she was hatching. Using her hands to simulate gripping a knife, she tried to show Aubrey the action of cutting through her zip ties. Aubrey came to the right conclusion, because her eyes grew in size and she shook her head no in such a way that left Chloe rolling her eyes and curling her lip. If she was quick and quiet, then this was their only way out.

“Where’s Mr. Papworth? The boy who threatened to ‘use his powers on me’?” Leanne looked back through the rear-view mirror once, and Chloe made sure to meet her eyes with as much animosity as she could muster. “Tell me, does he have any idea how to use those abilities of his?”

“Dunno,” Chloe said, groaning as she pretended to pull on her zip ties. Her legs were also feeling quite cramped, and tugging resulted in strain on her wrists. “You’re the Artemis expert.”

“How the fuck did you learn about that term?”

“The same way I learned about your full name,” Chloe replied audaciously. “’Leanne Southgate, Shitective at our service’?”

“You’ve got quite a mouth on you,” Leanne answered, ignoring Chloe’s deduction. “Ever wondered what you’d look like if someone sowed it shut?”

“I’ve been told my colorful language is one of my best qualities,” Chloe talked back to her, and the driver made a noise of disgust off the tip of her tongue.

“It’s nice to hear your dad is your biggest fan.” _Wow, that was a low blow even if she didn’t know it._ It didn’t deter Chloe from keeping her talking, as she just got her left hand into the top of her boot and reached around for the blade. What distracted everyone in the car was the abrupt change in weather, as the windshield was pelted with rain so strong that one would have mistaken it for a hailstorm. It became so bad that Leanne slowed the car to a crawl to avoid driving off the road into a tree just off the edge of the road.

Aubrey said something muffled by the gag, and even over the bad weather and jazz music, Chloe could just make out what she was trying to say: Connor was either in danger, or he was seriously pissed off. Chloe had been thinking the same ever since the weather picked up. That also posed the question of where Max fit into the equation. She hadn’t shown up and busted Leanne on the back of the head, nor had Connor struck her with lightning. The idea that Max wasn’t coming to save them was what truly frightened her, because if Max wasn’t coming, then that meant she had been killed or dead. _Oh Connor, I’m kicking your ass if there’s so much as a scratch on my little photographer._ Unfortunately, invasive thoughts were steadily creeping in on her, and Chloe just _had to_ remember something that Aubrey had previously mentioned, about being in the ‘proper’ timeline. What if they _were_ in one of the timelines that Max had to leave behind when she rewound? It was about the most hopeless thought she had given credence to in a long while. Would it be worth it, to fight back if Max wasn’t coming to fix things? It might end up worse if she didn’t sit around and just let it happen.

 _Nope. Not having these thoughts today, sister._ Escape had to be worth the trouble, no matter what. Chloe brushed off her doubts. If Max was having problems, she would still show up. Max wouldn’t lose her, not after Arcadia Bay.

The hail outside had spared them further conversation with Leanne, and so Chloe had also kept her movement as low key as she could until the driver continued rambling. Sure enough, as the weather calmed itself, that silence was done and Leanne was back on her bullshit, declaring that Hugh Olhouser was as good as dead and that Mr. Wright would know how to handle this. The rain, blended with the music from the radio, masked Chloe’s fumbling with her boot and the knife.

“Did you gag us so we wouldn’t tell you to shut the fuck up? Because no one has ever said that to you before, have they?” Chloe’s disrespect did not earn her a humorless chuckle as it had the previous times. “No wonder Mr. Wright left you behind. You can’t control yourself, and you’re insane! Listening to this one more second is torture enough.” She had her fingers on the verge of lifting the knife out of her boot, and all she had to do now was covertly slide it out and then maneuver it around so she could saw through the zip tie. If that somehow failed, she had one last trick up her sleeve, and it was going to be messy.

“I’m starting to think cutting out your tongue is preferable,” Leanne disregarded Chloe, her eyes returning to the road ahead rather than on the girls in her back seat, soon to break free from her clutches.

“Who’d tell you you’re a sycophant deranged nutjob if you did that?” Chloe shot Aubrey a look that was supposed to tell her not to panic, and to draw no attention to the knife she was now holding by the blade with her finger tips. Aubrey’s chest rose and fell in anticipation of Chloe’s prison break, but she turned her head to glare out the window. The bluenette was clearly not ready to react fast enough if Chloe pulled off her plan. They still had two seat belts to get through after the zip ties, and Chloe doubted that a trained detective—even one this crazy—wouldn’t eventually catch on to her tactics. She began to hold the knife by the dull end, twisting her wrists opposite in a painfully uncomfortable angle so she could aim the blade at the ties. The goal was, as she had decided, to saw her way to freedom until something happened to change that. The knife, like her wrists, were hidden behind her pant legs and out of sight from Detective Leanne. For how long that would remain so, was something Chloe didn’t want to find out.

“I’m not crazy,” Leanne denied softly. Her eyes had not left the road ahead, and Chloe kept watch on her like a hawk. “This mess is, and then you, considering you’re talking your way into a corner. You have nothing to gain from being this way, so for the last fucking time, please just comply.”

“You’re not gonna get shit out of me,” Chloe laughed roughly, the dastardly smile settling on her countenance and rapidly widening. “Because our friends will be there to put you in the ground first.” She couldn’t inspect her progress on the zip tie, but she could feel the knife running deeper into the material between her wrists. _Just keep the moron talking and then_ — _then what?_ She hadn’t really thought this far ahead, but plunging the blade into the blonde’s throat was no longer off the table. Chloe would have normally been opposed to the action, but after Hyram, she was leaning towards it.

“Are these friends the tacticians that split you up?,” said the driver. “When they come for you, they’ll also be mine.” _Oh, I’d love for you to see Max coming._ “Just admit that you’ve lost and deal with it. We’ll figure out what to do after Olhouser’s done with.” While the jazz on the radio overtook the rain outside, Chloe began sawing louder and faster. She was more than a quarter through, and some at some point soon she should be able to yank free from the plastic incarceration.

The dirt road became uneven and they hit a bump so pronounced that Chloe lost her hold on the knife. It thudded to the floor, and the punk could literally feel Aubrey’s eyes burning into her, realizing what had just happened. Chloe reached down to pick the knife back up, but the music that had filled their cabin was suddenly off, and Detective Leanne was already making moves for the gun next to the wheel. Chloe had no choice but to enact _Plan B,_ and hoped to god that the lap belt wouldn’t restrict her movement too much. Using her feet to propel her off of the floor, she stretched the seat belt toward the center console and used her feet, which weren’t restrained, to knock the gun out of Detective Leanne’s hand and into the passenger seat. Using her remaining strength, she yanked on the zip tie until it snapped apart. She had a split second to undo the seat belt and then, Chloe went for the knife, while Leanne went for the gun. In the background, Chloe heard Aubrey’s shriek and the car accelerate.

When she firmly got hold of the blade by its handle, she lunged out of the back seat toward the center console, completely prepared to put a stop to Leanne Southgate. The woman, still trying to drive at the same time, had retrieved her gun and aimed it back as Chloe met her. Leanne’s obvious weakness was that she was now trying to balance driving the vehicle with incapacitating a threat, and Chloe was capitalizing hard on that fact as she grappled with the woman’s arms. The gun started going off as Chloe pushed against Leanne, tearing holes into the cabin and allowing the rainwater to drip inside. Just hearing the discharge inside the cabin coupled with the muzzle flash was enough to send her into the back seat momentarily, but when she saw the barrel threaten Aubrey, Chloe threw herself up into the driver’s side passenger seat and brought the knife into Leanne’s spleen. It wasn’t where she intended to stab her, but it was a stab nonetheless. The detective let out a gut-wrenching scream, her hands yanking the steering wheel right. The car swerved and Chloe fell right into the passenger door, facing Leanne, who was writhing from the knife protruding underneath her armpit.

Around the same time, Chloe felt a sharp burn in the lower leg. She caught on fast as the pain spread to her entire leg that she had taken a bullet, and with blood starting to gather in the seat underneath her, the last thing she saw coming was Leanne shoving her out of the passenger door, which had swung open at some point in the fight. In what felt like the longest twenty seconds of her life, Chloe tumbled across the ground until she heard a loud crash.

She jumped awake, immediately sitting up to more of the searing pain in her leg. She had been shot in the leg and fell out of a moving vehicle, and the fact that she wasn’t in worse shape was a miracle. _Okay, Price. You’re still alive._ From the looks of it, the bullet had missed an artery, but trying to stand on her two feet, Chloe could only equate the action to being mauled by an angry bull. Every single muscle in her body was sore. Simply breathing felt as if she was on fire from the inside. She definitely had several broken bones from the tumble, but it wasn’t in her to give up now.

It had stopped raining, and it only took her a minute to recognize the leftover pieces of the Harry Aaron Prescott Barn, as well the home that Detective Leanne had crashed into. This was the site of Jefferson’s hidden dungeon bunker. The worn down homestead had seen better days even before they had rammed a car straight through it, but the first thing that stuck out aside from the barn being in pieces was the ugly beige SUV, presumably Aubrey’s, parked at the edge of the property.

“Fuck, Aubrey!” Chloe took one step on her good leg toward the car and bit down on her lip from how fucking bad it felt. She took another, sucking in as much of the excruciating pain as she could, and another, until she was limping her way toward the vehicle. It hurt so much that by the time she got to the trunk of the car, she nearly collapsed and passed out on top of it. She allowed herself to lean against the trunk, peering in through the back window and spotting Aubrey’s bloodied hair and slumped body. Not only had she gone through a car accident, she had to experience it with her hands restrained underneath her knees. Luckily, the seat belt had saved her from flying through the windshield. Come to think of it, Aubrey was the only one left in the car with a seat belt on. Which meant, of course, that their driver was either dead, or in a world of hurt.

She could not see the Leanne anywhere; not in the car, nor in the debris ahead of the car, so Chloe limped her way around to the back seat, and pulled open the door. A sharp stabbing twinge came across her stomach and she grabbed herself reflexively, before noting that Aubrey was still breathing in and out of her nose. A cough escaped the punk’s throat, and all things considered, Chloe had more medical problems going on in the moment than her friend did. It had looked marginally worse from the outside than it had on the inside, where Aubrey had only busted her head. The rest of her body looked fine from where Chloe could see, although she knew that head injuries were just as serious as being shot in the leg.

Chloe saw her bruised face out of the corner of her eye, and snapped to the passenger rear-view mirror. Her face was bloodied and swollen on the right side from the fall, and she looked like total shit. _You think I look like shit, wait ‘til you see the other guy_. Of course, it was probably all the epinephrine coursing through her veins that kept her from feeling the brunt of the agony. She had to keep capitalizing on that, and returned to her hurt friend.

“Aubrey,” Chloe called her name, with barely the breath to spare. “You are not gonna believe the shit that just happened.” She waited for Aubrey to answer her, just in case she was actually conscious and Chloe didn't have to reach over and pinch her. The charismatic, if a little drawled and pained banter stirred Aubrey, who groaned and opened her eyes. Chloe smiled enthusiastically, gritting away all of the pain. “We need to get you out of here, girl.”

“Chloe,” Aubrey muttered, her head resting uncomfortably on her knees. “Your jacket’s torn up.”

“It’s not the jacket that makes the punk. I needed a new one anyway,” Chloe reached in and, crying out from the pressure on her foot, nearly fell onto Aubrey’s back. Neither girl could help it; Chloe was pushing the limits on her body, and Aubrey was unceremoniously restrained.

“What are we going to do?” Aubrey asked, hoping for guidance. Luckily for her, Chloe’s _Plan B_ had been something of a way out.

“Listen, you’re gonna have to do this part on your own.” Chloe warned her right off the bat, propping herself against the front passenger’s dented door. “I took a shot in the leg, and then I became a tumbleweed. I don’t have the strength to lift you up. I need you to take one leg at a time and pull them out from between your arms.” Chloe wiped the sweat and blood from her face and, instinctively reaching to her back pocket, found that her lighter and slightly smashed cigarettes had somehow survived the journey. Scanning the area around them, she allowed her head to rest against the top of the car. “We’ll find my knife and cut you loose once you can walk. Then we’re getting the fuck out of this nightmare. Do you see the gun anywhere inside?”

“Just give me a minute,” Aubrey asked of her, which was fine by Chloe. The rain had ceased and other than Leanne in the front seat, they appeared to be by themselves. Seeing nobody emerging from the ancient wooden house or the dark room entrance, she took the opportunity to search for the gun in a second. Fighting back the urge to fall on her ass and pass out, Chloe removed a cigarette from her pack, placed it on the tip of her lips and then lit its end with her lighter. “Where are we?”

“Olhouser’s hideout,” Chloe informed her, taking in the much needed fumes from the death-stick. “By the way, we found your car. Why the hell is it beige?” Chloe hadn’t quite said it in a questioning manner, but more in a declarative sense. She wasn’t one to make sense right now, regardless, as the only thing that seemed to calm her nerves came from the cigarette between her fingers. She heard some ruffling from the back seat and panned down toward Aubrey, who was on the cusp of getting her left leg free. All she had left was to pull her converse out and she was home free.

That was the case, until Aubrey began to scream and bob her head out toward someone who was marching toward them. In her state, Chloe wouldn’t be able to fend anyone off, but she’d fight tooth and nail if she had to. But Chloe hadn’t been prepared for the stench of Hugh Olhouser, the disgusting enormous white beard, or the wash cloth he shoved into her face. As he neared, the smell of gasoline became increasingly clear. _Now would be a great time to find the gun, Aubrey!_ Despite being about three yards away by the time she had spotted him, he had somehow covered the distance between them in mere seconds. The cloth was what smelled of gasoline, and if she had to guess, he was going to try and knock her out. As Olhouser imposed his form upon her, he seized her by the neck and placed the cloth over her face with a full palm.

It was a scary moment; in addition to choking her windpipe, he must not have put it together that he was holding a wash cloth drenched in gasoline, and she had dropped the cigarette from the shock of it. Her first thought was to kick him in the gut, but she could hardly move from the pinned position against the door frame. His hand squeezed harder, and the feeling in her arms began to fade. In other words, her blood flow was starting to halt from the death grip on her throat. For such a puny looking man, Olhouser had freakish upper body strength.

She brought her knee up to his gut, no matter the pain in her leg. As soon as the vile man released her in response, she took the cloth from him, shoved it into his massive beard and, fumbling into her back pocket for her lighter, flicked the ignition and held it up to the cloth. If Chloe had been good at anything in school, it was science. The ignition temperature for gasoline was two-fifty degrees Celsius, and the lighter was about double that number. There was still a good chance that it wouldn’t work, but she had exhausted all options that didn’t result in her neck getting snapped, so it _had_ to work.

To Chloe’s insane satisfaction, the washcloth caught aflame. Olhouser backed away from her, staggering in a panic to remove the gas cocktail in his beard. Chloe immediately glared at Aubrey, who was bewildered at the impromptu escape Chloe had pulled off, and told her to hurry the fuck up and find the gun. The bluenette had freed her left leg, and was pulling her right knee out from between her arms when Chloe felt large hands on the back of her neck. Only seeing Aubrey’s pale, horrified expression, the punk felt herself lifted off of the ground, Olhouser’s fingers digging further into her skin. Before she could fight back, he slammed her head into the top of the car.

Everything was black. Even as Chloe groggily opened her eyes, she couldn’t see a thing around her. For that matter, she couldn’t remember where she was or how long she had slept. Her senses told her she was standing somewhere, but she had nothing to go off of other than a cool, almost midsummer-feeling breeze emanating from somewhere. Was it possible that she could be underground?

“Chloe Price,” a voice, which rose and fell in octaves, from a certain hazel-eyed blonde spoke out to her in the darkness. “You’re still kicking ass and taking names, even without me?”

“Rachel?” shouted Chloe, taking several steps in the direction of the voice. “Where are you?”

“Somewhere in the forest, if I’m lucky,” Rachel replied from above Chloe. The punk stared up into the abyss, expecting to see Rachel staring back at her.

“Where am I?” asked Chloe, the strength of her own voice dropping as she thought about how much she had missed the thespian.

“In deep shit, obviously. Why else would I be here?” Chloe wanted so fucking badly to find her, grab her and never let her go. Why was that so hard to do right now? “Chloe, listen up. It’s time you got over it.”

“Got over it?” Chloe questioned, wondering if she was misunderstanding the girl’s overture. “Are you fucking kidding me? Why the fuck would I get over it?”

“Didn’t you learn anything from me?” Rachel’s haughty laugh was something that both haunted and soothed Chloe on many restless nights in bed. Right now, it was the former. “I never told you the truth about Frank, I never even told you about Mark or Nathan. Everybody lies, Chloe. Especially Rachel Amber. You’re expecting too much.”

“That’s bullshit,” Chloe fought the conflicting thoughts, of all the times where she had wanted to slap Rachel across the face for getting herself caught up in people who had hurt her. “I don’t care about that anymore. I have no reason to. I loved you, Rachel.”

“Loved me? Past tense?” Rachel asked from behind her, and Chloe turned around immediately and saw her. The stunning woman that the entire school wanted to be involved with, the daughter of the District Attorney and Chloe’s personal angel, Rachel Amber. She wasn’t smiling with the usual allure that always brought Chloe into her arms, regarding Chloe instead with an evocative frown, furrowed brows and pointed chin.

“No. I _still_ love you,” Chloe said. “God, did I have to say that?”

“You have Max, now,” Rachel stared down, examining her fingernails. “From what I’ve heard, she lies, too.”

“What the fuck?” Chloe whispered, walking fast toward the woman before her. She extended a hand, reaching out to touch the thespian, when Rachel pulled away from her. _What the fuck._

 _“_ Everybody lies, no exceptions. I did, Max does, your new friends do, everybody does. Get over it.”

Chloe, the emotional strife now ravaging her heart, ran toward Rachel, intending to wrap her arms around the brunette and tell her to shut the fuck up. When she made contact with Rachel’s body, it was as if she had never been there and Chloe began to fall, her stomach dropping as it occurred.

“Hey sweetheart,” the gentle voice of her father echoed in Chloe’s mind, and she blinked several times. She was laying in bed, except that it wasn’t her own in California, but that of the Caulfield’s guest bedroom. _Why is Dad here at Max’s house?_ Chloe, who had sat up from bed, reached for her face and felt the throbbing pain from some injuries she had sustained.

“Where are you at?” Chloe asked, yawning as she moved to get out of bed. She slid her bare legs off the edge and placed them onto the blue carpet. Remembering her strange spat with Rachel, Chloe suddenly realized that she was experiencing one of her extremely lucid dreams. It had been a few years since she had really experienced one, but it had always been of her father. Rachel was there, yes, but she had never been the focal point of these very vivid dream sequences.

“I’m where I’ve always been,” William replied to her joyfully. “In your heart.”

“Sure you are,” Chloe muttered. Her father was dead, and never coming back. Same for Rachel. She pushed herself off of the guest bed and, looking around the room that almost felt like it was shaking around her, saw the light on in the bathroom. “Max, is that you?”

“Chloe, honey, you need your rest. You’ve had a rough day,” like a challenge to her memory, her father appeared in front of the door to the bathroom, his auburn hair and gray plaid shirt just as she had recalled him wearing the day he had left and never came home. It wasn’t subtle that she was dreaming at this point, but any context to the rough day he claimed she had been through wasn’t there.

“I probably did, taking care of Max,” Chloe folded her arms and looked up at her father, who’s sunny demeanor started to melt her cold heart. That was always going to be the William Price she knew, even with him gone, and nobody could take that away from her.

“From where I see things, Max is the one taking care of you,” William now sat on the edge of the bed, fluffing one of the pillows out. Chloe was sitting beside him, with no recollection of ever sitting back down to begin with. Her dreams were often spontaneous, but they usually carried some value. Instead of overthinking it, she let her eyes rest.

“When she decides to I need to know,” Chloe rolled the last word off of her tongue. She remembered enough about the last week to know Max was hiding things from her again.

“And you have three new friends to top it off. I don’t know about you, but I count that as a win,” William spoke, his voice echoing through her dream. She opened her eyes, and he was gone from the bedside. The walls around her in the room had collapsed, and she was now seated in a wrought-iron chair at a fancy dinner table. When her clothes felt constrained, she realized that she was wearing a pressed suit with a bow-tie and nearly wanted to gag at how square she felt.

“Get this fucking thing off of me,” Chloe demanded, before she spotted, in the darkness, her mother and father engaged in a slow dance. Her father had a tuxedo with a white undershirt and his standard polka-dot tie that Chloe had bought for him some Father’s Day ago. Her mother, for whatever reason, was wearing the wedding dress that she had sold at some point after her dad’s death. Seeing her mom lovingly gaze into her father’s eyes was warming, even if it was only a fantasy.

“Just remember one thing, okay Chloe?” William raised up his intertwined hand as Joyce twirled underneath it, and then pulled her back into his embrace. “Don’t give up on your friends. They’ll be there for you.”

“Yeah, like you’re here for me?” Chloe retorted, though she immediately regretted it. William and Joyce didn’t break from their dance, and instead the clear sound of trombones and bass began. As if from the corner of his face, her dad shot her a wink and a big smirk.

“Honey, you know that’s not fair. Say, do you remember the man who sings this song? Your mother and I loved dancing to it before you got home from school.” Chloe would know “Ole’ Blue Eyes” Frank Sinatra anywhere, and she had walked in on her parents slow-dancing in the kitchen plenty of times. It was still one of her memories left unscathed by her stepfather and all the shit that the city threw at her, and Chloe found herself singing along as her dad began to sing too.

“I’d sacrifice anything, come what might for the sake of having you near,” sang William, as Chloe picked up the next few verses, finding the rhythm on the table with her fingers.

“In spite of a warning voice, that comes in the night, and repeats, repeats in my ear.”

“Don’t you know, little fool!” sang her father as he pecked Joyce on the cheek. “You never can win! Use your mentality, wake up, to reality! But each time I do, just the thought of you, makes me stop, before I begin.”

“’Cause I’ve got you,” Chloe smiled, resting her eyes once more, “Under my skin.”

This time when she opened her eyes, she cried out in agony from the pain throughout her entire body. The bright lights and strange sounds surrounding her were alarming, and it took her a moment to get used to the floodlights even through her apparent blindfold. Her legs and arms were bound to a large metal chair, and that song, that fucking song that she had been singing along to in her dream, was practically screaming over a loudspeaker. Of course, this didn’t cover up the fact that some mechanical noise mixed in with the deathly wail of someone in a lot more pain than Chloe drowned out the song.

Chloe was tied up in the _dark room._ The cold air, the bright lights, the sound system. It was nearly identical to the day she had been here, and it felt like it hadn’t aged a day. It was like that horrific nightmare that her girlfriend went through. If this was some twisted sort of fate, having to endure this just as Rachel and Max had, then she had no faith left in the universe. The punk tested the restraints, feeling the rope rub against her wrists and ankles— _where the fuck did my boots go?_ When she understood that her jacket and footwear were no longer on her person, she shuddered at the thought of that disgusting old man taking articles of clothing off of her.

The shock was wearing off, and the frightening scream combined with a high note from Sinatra came somewhere to the right of her. The scream belonged to Leanne Southgate, but from how intimidating the detective had always been, hearing her like this was visceral. She had survived the car accident only to be thrown into the dark room along with Chloe. She wasn’t just in pain, this was the kind of wailing that came from active torture. The mechanical noise registered in her mind as that of a spinning drill bit, from a power tool. _Oh my fucking god._  
“But each time,” Hugh Olhouser rasped over the power tool, and Leanne’s insane cries, “I’s do just the thought of you, makes me stop just befo’ I begin.” Chloe pulled on the rope holding her to the chair, still making out vague shapes in the light across from her. She had to get away from this, to escape and never look back. This wasn’t what they had come to do and Max was going to find her dead body if she couldn’t get free.

“I asked you’s a question,” Olhouser ceased whatever torture he had engaged with, and Leanne’s bone-chilling pleas to stop were now etched into Chloe’s memory. “I’ll stop if you answer’s the fuckin’ question!” The power tool began to spin again and Leanne’s begging grew more frantic. Never once in Chloe’s life had she been as terrified as she was, bound to that chair. No amount of tugging or thrashing could free her from bondage.

“It’s gonna be over soon,” Olhouser, in a mocking manner, promised to the tortured woman who had ceased her whimpering. “Your partner over there, he did not survive’s my questionin’ like you have. But that can change.” Chloe turned her head despite the blindfold obscuring her vision, the smell of blood in the air.

Olhouser drew near, his footsteps bouncing off of the walls, the power tool he was using still active. Chloe’s limbs were unsteady, and sitting still was a feeling that she had completely forgotten about. He was _right there_ , his bad breath only steps away. On the back of her head, she felt the blindfold come loose, and she got a glimpse at the man standing over her. His apron was stained from blood, and her quick thinking had effectively neutered his facial hair, with the beard misshapen and nearly absent from his face. What she couldn’t miss was the rusty power drill that was placed on a surgical table right next to her, within reach of the kidnapper. His missing teeth shown by a smile made her want to shiver, as he ran his fingertips down the side of her head, her neck, and across her collar bone. Chloe, even with the restraints, quivered at his touch.

“The Oracle said you’s would return,” Olhouser said, pulling his hand away from the bottom of her collar. Chloe, shaking uncontrollably, refused to look away and instead intensely burrowed directly up at his blue eyes.

“Fuck you,” Chloe hissed, watching the old man’s filthy mug contort into a smile only a predator would give before striking prey. Olhouser raised his palm up, as if to strike her. Chloe tensed, waiting for the abuse, when he had some second thought about it and let his palm drop. Off to the left, she finally spotted what had been only a shape behind the blindfold to be the second detective strapped into a chair, bloodied and mutilated. His chair had been thrown to the ground, Mr. Wright still tied down in it. The amount of pooled blood surrounding Mr. Wright’s head could have drowned him, if he had been alive.

“You’s being so rude. You’re gonna help cleanse the world of all evil.”

“I’m not going to help you with anything!” shouted Chloe, trembling. “You’re horrible fucking monster.” _Please, Max. Please. Oh my god, please._

“Don’t say a damn thing to him,” Leanne, somewhere behind Olhouser, demanded of her. The creepy man growled, and over his shoulder, appeared to eye up his last victim.

“You’s shut that whore mouth or you gonna lose the other kneecap!” Returning to Chloe, Olhouser’s hands landed lightly on his shoulders and he sunk his head. “You’s aint wrong. I’s a monster, but I’s only doing what I was told.”

“Who the fuck would want this?” Chloe tartly asked.

“The Yatagarasu,” Olhouser’s eyes traveled down Chloe’s body, as if she wasn’t already feeling humiliated enough. “They’s the one who the Oracle talks to. I reckon tellin’ would be no harm.”

“Who the fuck is the Oracle?” Chloe’s courage was shrinking every waking second, but to this question, Olhouser threw his head into the air and let out a maniac cackle.

“The Oracle got’s a name, yeah. The Yatagarasu told’s me the Oracle helped ‘em get Mister Prescott, and they knew all about that hurricane that destroyed’s the town. But today? This day’s the definin’ moment, as the end of the dark times.”

Chloe, witnessing the man’s descent into madness as he spoke, was confused beyond recognition. “Who the fuck is the Oracle?”

“You’s don’t remember Rachel Amber?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 7/11/18


	16. Killing Me Softly

**Chapter 16: Killing Me Softly**

 

The back seat of the black sedan had looked uncomfortable to first glance, but Chloe never had envisioned herself sitting back there, or that she would be hunched forward with her legs tucked between her restrained wrists. The detective had used zip ties, and they were so tight that any wiggling left her wrist numb and raw. To the right of Chloe, Aubrey was also shamefully restrained, her vibrantly green eyes crying for help. Had she not been gagged, Chloe thought she might have been on the verge of crying. Neither of them had made a sound since Detective Leanne promised they would share in Hyram’s fate if they so much as whimpered at her. There was no redeeming this woman. _The only person who’ll be whimpering is you when I get these stupid fucking ties off._

The punk had also lost her skullcap, or rather, she had lost it in the scuffle over the rebar and Leanne left it behind, but not before holding them at gun point to pick up and carry Hyram’s unconscious body behind the wall where the car had been parked. With how badly he had been bleeding, receiving no medical attention meant he would die. And this piece of shit in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel and the other adjusting the radio to play some old time garbage, didn’t care at all. To her, Hyram was just another person who had crossed her, a nobody to be disposed of when things didn’t go her way. Chloe’s wrists were in pain from the zip-ties digging into the skin, but it did nothing to suppress the sheer outrage boiling in her chest, threatening to spill out.

“Your fingerprints are all over his body,” Leanne spoke up over over the jazz now playing through the crap speakers, and if Chloe could have seen her face to face, she would have found a way to spit the gag out and speak her mind, which she had been working at for a few minutes already. “I’m your only getting out of this.” She adjusted the rear-view mirror and Chloe could spot the sharp features of the short-haired blonde, glaring at her so intensely that it became hard to keep the eye contact going. “Shot from a gun that also bears your prints.”

 _You shot him! Don’t you fucking dare, you mother fucking piece of shit!_ Chloe wanted to scream at her, and had to settle for a lot of angry grunting behind the gag that came out as incomprehensible curses. The detective, satisfied with the rise she got out of Chloe, snickered and her eyes returned to the dirt road. The punk suspected the road their driver was following would lead them to either Detective Wright or Hugh Olhouser. It didn’t matter to her either way.

Chloe craned her neck to check on Aubrey, who was still rightfully terrified and trembling all over. Chloe, for all the crazy and dangerous situations she had been through, was also terrified. This was one of those experiences she would never want to relive once over. It didn’t beat finding her lover’s corpse, or a whole town going down, but it was still up there. The feelings of terror, however, were minuscule in comparison to the bloody murder she was plotting in her head. All she needed was for Detective Leanne to keep rambling, and then she’d be paying for one little misstep she made before they were taken prisoner. Who gave a fuck if she was terrified of them? Even cowards could gloat. Chloe flexed her fingers and hands, ensuring she still had feeling and slowly edged up toward the top of her left boot. When Leanne had given them a pat-down, she had been dumb enough to forget about Chloe’s boots, and the large knife tucked next to her ankle.

“You lost your chance to get off scott-free,” Leanne continued giving them the shakedown, _the help me or you’re fucked_ ploy, as if she even had to. They were already tagged and collared, at her mercy, and yet she kept on going. Chloe almost expected her to reveal her plan to them like one of the old cartoon villains. “E-Even with the fake blue hair, you match your driver’s license, Miss Snyders. As for you, I’m going to find out sooner or later.” _Fat chance you find out before I curb stomp your ass_. “We were _talking_ , why the fuck couldn’t you have just cooperated?”

Having had enough of that train of thought, Chloe finally used her tongue and teeth to force the cloth gag off and indignantly mouthed off to the driver. “Talking doesn’t involve threatening innocent fucking people with a firearm! Fuck you, you unhinged fucking psychopath.”

“You’re far from innocent or harmless. You lost the gag,” Leanne remarked with a dry chuckle, and Chloe watched her right hand leave the wheel and grip Chloe’s old handgun resting in the cup holder. The detective hesitated, releasing the weapon and leaving it in it’s place. Instead, she swallowed a huge gulp of air, shoulders rising and falling. “Damn it.”

Truth be told, Chloe was stuck on why this woman was so deranged. Also truth be told, Chloe didn’t give a _fuck_ how much she was threatened by Leanne anymore and easily spotted the way the woman’s arm coudn’t stay still—Detective Leanne was shaking, still freaked out from killing their friend. If she had _wanted_ to kill them, she would have done it. No, this bitch somehow believed that she could coerce them into helping her plot, whatever it might be.

“Fucking,” Leanne paused, pulling the gun away from Chloe’s forehead. “God, damn it,” Leanne growled through her teeth. “Mr. Auteberry didn’t need to die. That was all you, trying to rush me.”

 _I did not get him killed, you did._ The punk, having had enough of the bastard’s insinuating tuned it out and shot Aubrey an urgent gesture with her chin. Aubrey was attentively focused on her instead of Leanne, and when Chloe motioned down to her boots, the bottle bluenette didn’t immediately catch on to the plan that she was hatching. Using her hands to simulate gripping a knife, she tried to show Aubrey the action of cutting through her zip ties. Aubrey came to the right conclusion, because her eyes grew in size and she shook her head no in such a way that left Chloe rolling her eyes and curling her lip. If she was quick and quiet, then this was their only way out.

“Where’s Mr. Papworth? The boy who threatened to ‘use his powers on me’?” Leanne looked back through the rear-view mirror once, and Chloe made sure to meet her eyes with as much animosity as she could muster. “Tell me, does he have any idea how to use those abilities of his?”

“Dunno,” Chloe said, groaning as she pretended to pull on her zip ties. Her legs were also feeling quite cramped, and tugging resulted in strain on her wrists. “You’re the Artemis expert.”

“How the fuck did you learn about that term?”

“The same way I learned about your full name,” Chloe replied audaciously. “’Leanne Southgate, Shitective at our service’?”

“You’ve got quite a mouth on you,” Leanne answered, ignoring Chloe’s deduction. “Ever wondered what you’d look like if someone sowed it shut?”

“I’ve been told my colorful language is one of my best qualities,” Chloe talked back to her, and the driver made a noise of disgust off the tip of her tongue.

“It’s nice to hear your dad is your biggest fan.” _Wow, that was a low blow even if she didn’t know it._ It didn’t deter Chloe from keeping her talking, as she just got her left hand into the top of her boot and reached around for the blade. What distracted everyone in the car was the abrupt change in weather, as the windshield was pelted with rain so strong that one would have mistaken it for a hailstorm. It became so bad that Leanne slowed the car to a crawl to avoid driving off the road into a tree just off the edge of the road.

Aubrey said something muffled by the gag, and even over the bad weather and jazz music, Chloe could just make out what she was trying to say: Connor was either in danger, or he was seriously pissed off. Chloe had been thinking the same ever since the weather picked up. That also posed the question of where Max fit into the equation. She hadn’t shown up and busted Leanne on the back of the head, nor had Connor struck her with lightning. The idea that Max wasn’t coming to save them was what truly frightened her, because if Max wasn’t coming, then that meant she had been killed or dead. _Oh Connor, I’m kicking your ass if there’s so much as a scratch on my little photographer._ Unfortunately, invasive thoughts were steadily creeping in on her, and Chloe just _had to_ remember something that Aubrey had previously mentioned, about being in the ‘proper’ timeline. What if they _were_ in one of the timelines that Max had to leave behind when she rewound? It was about the most hopeless thought she had given credence to in a long while. Would it be worth it, to fight back if Max wasn’t coming to fix things? It might end up worse if she didn’t sit around and just let it happen.

 _Nope. Not having these thoughts today, sister._ Escape had to be worth the trouble, no matter what. Chloe brushed off her doubts. If Max was having problems, she would still show up. Max wouldn’t lose her, not after Arcadia Bay.

The hail outside had spared them further conversation with Leanne, and so Chloe had also kept her movement as low key as she could until the driver continued rambling. Sure enough, as the weather calmed itself, that silence was done and Leanne was back on her bullshit, declaring that Hugh Olhouser was as good as dead and that Mr. Wright would know how to handle this. The rain, blended with the music from the radio, masked Chloe’s fumbling with her boot and the knife.

“Did you gag us so we wouldn’t tell you to shut the fuck up? Because no one has ever said that to you before, have they?” Chloe’s disrespect did not earn her a humorless chuckle as it had the previous times. “No wonder Mr. Wright left you behind. You can’t control yourself, and you’re insane! Listening to this one more second is torture enough.” She had her fingers on the verge of lifting the knife out of her boot, and all she had to do now was covertly slide it out and then maneuver it around so she could saw through the zip tie. If that somehow failed, she had one last trick up her sleeve, and it was going to be messy.

“I’m starting to think cutting out your tongue is preferable,” Leanne disregarded Chloe, her eyes returning to the road ahead rather than on the girls in her back seat, soon to break free from her clutches.

“Who’d tell you you’re a sycophant deranged nutjob if you did that?” Chloe shot Aubrey a look that was supposed to tell her not to panic, and to draw no attention to the knife she was now holding by the blade with her finger tips. Aubrey’s chest rose and fell in anticipation of Chloe’s prison break, but she turned her head to glare out the window. The bluenette was clearly not ready to react fast enough if Chloe pulled off her plan. They still had two seat belts to get through after the zip ties, and Chloe doubted that a trained detective—even one this crazy—wouldn’t eventually catch on to her tactics. She began to hold the knife by the dull end, twisting her wrists opposite in a painfully uncomfortable angle so she could aim the blade at the ties. The goal was, as she had decided, to saw her way to freedom until something happened to change that. The knife, like her wrists, were hidden behind her pant legs and out of sight from Detective Leanne. For how long that would remain so, was something Chloe didn’t want to find out.

“I’m not crazy,” Leanne denied softly. Her eyes had not left the road ahead, and Chloe kept watch on her like a hawk. “This mess is, and then you, considering you’re talking your way into a corner. You have nothing to gain from being this way, so for the last fucking time, please just comply.”

“You’re not gonna get shit out of me,” Chloe laughed roughly, the dastardly smile settling on her countenance and rapidly widening. “Because our friends will be there to put you in the ground first.” She couldn’t inspect her progress on the zip tie, but she could feel the knife running deeper into the material between her wrists. _Just keep the moron talking and then_ — _then what?_ She hadn’t really thought this far ahead, but plunging the blade into the blonde’s throat was no longer off the table. Chloe would have normally been opposed to the action, but after Hyram, she was leaning towards it.

“Are these friends the tacticians that split you up?,” said the driver. “When they come for you, they’ll also be mine.” _Oh, I’d love for you to see Max coming._ “Just admit that you’ve lost and deal with it. We’ll figure out what to do after Olhouser’s done with.” While the jazz on the radio overtook the rain outside, Chloe began sawing louder and faster. She was more than a quarter through, and some at some point soon she should be able to yank free from the plastic incarceration.

The dirt road became uneven and they hit a bump so pronounced that Chloe lost her hold on the knife. It thudded to the floor, and the punk could literally feel Aubrey’s eyes burning into her, realizing what had just happened. Chloe reached down to pick the knife back up, but the music that had filled their cabin was suddenly off, and Detective Leanne was already making moves for the gun next to the wheel. Chloe had no choice but to enact _Plan B,_ and hoped to god that the lap belt wouldn’t restrict her movement too much. Using her feet to propel her off of the floor, she stretched the seat belt toward the center console and used her feet, which weren’t restrained, to knock the gun out of Detecitve Leanne’s hand and into the passenger seat. Using her remaining strength, she yanked on the zip tie until it snapped apart. She had a split second to undo the seat belt and then, Chloe went for the knife, while Leanne went for the gun. In the background, Chloe heard Aubrey’s shriek and the car accelerate.

When she firmly got hold of the blade by its handle, she lunged out of the back seat toward the center console, completely prepared to put a stop to Leanne Southgate. The woman, still trying to drive at the same time, had retrieved her gun and aimed it back as Chloe met her. Leanne’s obvious weakness was that she was now trying to balance driving the vehicle with incapacitating a threat, and Chloe was capitalizing hard on that fact as she grappled with the woman’s arms. The gun started going off as Chloe pushed against Leanne, tearing holes into the cabin and allowing the rainwater to drip inside. Just hearing the discharge inside the cabin coupled with the muzzle flash was enough to send her into the back seat momentarily, but when she saw the barrel threaten Aubrey, Chloe threw herself up into the driver’s side passenger seat and brought the knife into Leanne’s spleen. It wasn’t where she intended to stab her, but it was a stab nonetheless. The detective let out a gut-wrenching scream, her hands yanking the steering wheel right. The car swerved and Chloe fell right into the passenger door, facing Leanne, who was writhing from the knife protruding underneath her armpit.

Around the same time, Chloe felt a sharp burn in the lower leg. She caught on fast as the pain spread to her entire leg that she had taken a bullet, and with blood starting to gather in the seat underneath her, the last thing she saw coming was Leanne shoving her out of the passenger door, which had swung open at some point in the fight. In what felt like the longest twenty seconds of her life, Chloe tumbled across the ground until she heard a loud crash.

She jumped awake, immediately sitting up to more of the searing pain in her leg. She had been shot in the leg and fell out of a moving vehicle, and the fact that she wasn’t in worse shape was a miracle. _Okay, Price. You’re still alive._ From the looks of it, the bullet had missed an artery, but trying to stand on her two feet, Chloe could only equate the action to being mauled by an angry bull. Every single muscle in her body was sore. Simply breathing felt as if she was on fire from the inside. She definitely had several broken bones from the tumble, but it wasn’t in her to give up now.

It had stopped raining, and it only took her a minute to recognize the leftover pieces of the Harry Aaron Prescott Barn, as well the home that Detective Leanne had crashed into. This was the site of Jefferson’s hidden dungeon bunker. The worn down homestead had seen better days even before they had rammed a car straight through it, but the first thing that stuck out aside from the barn being in pieces was the ugly beige SUV, presumably Aubrey’s, parked at the edge of the property.

“Fuck, Aubrey!” Chloe took one step on her good leg toward the car and bit down on her lip from how fucking bad it felt. She took another, sucking in as much of the excruciating pain as she could, and another, until she was limping her way toward the vehicle. It hurt so much that by the time she got to the trunk of the car, she nearly collapsed and passed out on top of it. She allowed herself to lean against the trunk, peering in through the back window and spotting Aubrey’s bloodied hair and slumped body. Not only had she gone through a car accident, she had to experience it with her hands restrained underneath her knees. Luckily, the seat belt had saved her from flying through the windshield. Come to think of it, Aubrey was the only one left in the car with a seat belt on. Which meant, of course, that their driver was either dead, or in a world of hurt.

She could not see the Leanne anywhere; not in the car, nor in the debris ahead of the car, so Chloe limped her way around to the back seat, and pulled open the door. A sharp stabbing twinge came across her stomach and she grabbed herself reflexively, before noting that Aubrey was still breathing in and out of her nose. A cough escaped the punk’s throat, and all things considered, Chloe had more medical problems going on in the moment than her friend did. It had looked marginally worse from the outside than it had on the inside, where Aubrey had only busted her head. The rest of her body looked fine from where Chloe could see, although she knew that head injuries were just as serious as being shot in the leg.

Chloe saw her bruised face out of the corner of her eye, and snapped to the passenger rear-view mirror. Her face was bloodied and swollen on the right side from the fall, and she looked like total shit. _You think I look like shit, wait ‘til you see the other guy_. Of course, it was probably all the epinephrine coursing through her veins that kept her from feeling the brunt of the agony. She had to keep capitalizing on that, and returned to her hurt friend.

“Aubrey,” Chloe called her name, with barely the breath to spare. “You are not gonna believe the shit that just happened.” She waited for Aubrey to answer her, just in case she was actually conscious and Chloe didn't have to reach over and pinch her. The charismatic, if a little drawled and pained banter stirred Aubrey, who groaned and opened her eyes. Chloe smiled enthusiastically, gritting away all of the pain. “We need to get you out of here, girl.”

“Chloe,” Aubrey muttered, her head resting uncomfortably on her knees. “Your jacket’s torn up.”

“It’s not the jacket that makes the punk. I needed a new one anyway,” Chloe reached in and, crying out from the pressure on her foot, nearly fell onto Aubrey’s back. Neither girl could help it; Chloe was pushing the limits on her body, and Aubrey was unceremoniously restrained.

“What are we going to do?” Aubrey asked, hoping for guidance. Luckily for her, Chloe’s _Plan B_ had been something of a way out.

“Listen, you’re gonna have to do this part on your own.” Chloe warned her right off the bat, propping herself against the front passenger’s dented door. “I took a shot in the leg, and then I became a tumbleweed. I don’t have the strength to lift you up. I need you to take one leg at a time and pull them out from between your arms.” Chloe wiped the sweat and blood from her face and, instinctively reaching to her back pocket, found that her lighter and slightly smashed cigarettes had somehow survived the journey. Scanning the area around them, she allowed her head to rest against the top of the car. “We’ll find my knife and cut you loose once you can walk. Then we’re getting the fuck out of this nightmare. Do you see the gun anywhere inside?”

“Just give me a minute,” Aubrey asked of her, which was fine by Chloe. The rain had ceased and other than Leanne in the front seat, they appeared to be by themselves. Seeing nobody emerging from the ancient wooden house or the dark room entrance, she took the opportunity to search for the gun in a second. Fighting back the urge to fall on her ass and pass out, Chloe removed a cigarette from her pack, placed it on the tip of her lips and then lit its end with her lighter. “Where are we?”

“Olhouser’s hideout,” Chloe informed her, taking in the much needed fumes from the death-stick. “By the way, we found your car. Why the hell is it beige?” Chloe hadn’t quite said it in a questioning manner, but more in a declarative sense. She wasn’t one to make sense right now, regardless, as the only thing that seemed to calm her nerves came from the cigarette between her fingers. She heard some ruffling from the back seat and panned down toward Aubrey, who was on the cusp of getting her left leg free. All she had left was to pull her converse out and she was home free.

That was the case, until Aubrey began to scream and bob her head out toward someone who was marching toward them. In her state, Chloe wouldn’t be able to fend anyone off, but she’d fight tooth and nail if she had to. But Chloe hadn’t been prepared for the stench of Hugh Olhouser, the disgusting enormous white beard, or the wash cloth he shoved into her face. As he neared, the smell of gasoline became increasingly clear. _Now would be a great time to find the gun, Aubrey!_ Despite being about three yards away by the time she had spotted him, he had somehow covered the distance between them in mere seconds. The cloth was what smelled of gasoline, and if she had to guess, he was going to try and knock her out. As Olhouser imposed his form upon her, he seized her by the neck and placed the cloth over her face with a full palm.

It was a scary moment; in addition to choking her windpipe, he must not have put it together that he was holding a wash cloth drenched in gasoline, and she had dropped the cigarette from the shock of it. Her first thought was to kick him in the gut, but she could hardly move from the pinned position against the door frame. His hand squeezed harder, and the feeling in her arms began to fade. In other words, her blood flow was starting to halt from the death grip on her throat. For such a puny looking man, Olhouser had freakish upper body strength.

She brought her knee up to his gut, no matter the pain in her leg. As soon as the vile man released her in response, she took the cloth from him, shoved it into his massive beard and, fumbling into her back pocket for her lighter, flicked the ignition and held it up to the cloth. If Chloe had been good at anything in school, it was science. The ignition temperature for gasoline was two-fifty degrees Celsius, and the lighter was about double that number. There was still a good chance that it wouldn’t work, but she had exhausted all options that didn’t result in her neck getting snapped, so it _had_ to work.

To Chloe’s insane satisfaction, the washcloth caught aflame. Olhouser backed away from her, staggering in a panic to remove the gas cocktail in his beard. Chloe immediately glared at Aubrey, who was bewildered at the impromptu escape Chloe had pulled off, and told her to hurry the fuck up and find the gun. The bluenette had freed her left leg, and was pulling her right knee out from between her arms when Chloe felt large hands on the back of her neck. Only seeing Aubrey’s pale, horrified expression, the punk felt herself lifted off of the ground, Olhouser’s fingers digging further into her skin. Before she could fight back, he slammed her head into the top of the car.

Everything was black. Even as Chloe groggily opened her eyes, she couldn’t see a thing around her. For that matter, she couldn’t remember where she was or how long she had slept. Her senses told her she was standing somewhere, but she had nothing to go off of other than a cool, almost midsummer-feeling breeze emanating from somewhere. Was it possible that she could be underground?

“Chloe Price,” a voice, which rose and fell in octaves, from a certain hazel-eyed blonde spoke out to her in the darkness. “You’re still kicking ass and taking names, even without me?”

“Rachel?” shouted Chloe, taking several steps in the direction of the voice. “Where are you?”

“Somewhere in the forest, if I’m lucky,” Rachel replied from above Chloe. The punk stared up into the abyss, expecting to see Rachel staring back at her.

“Where am I?” asked Chloe, the strength of her own voice dropping as she thought about how much she had missed the thespian.

“In deep shit, obviously. Why else would I be here?” Chloe wanted so fucking badly to find her, grab her and never let her go. Why was that so hard to do right now? “Chloe, listen up. It’s time you got over it.”

“Got over it?” Chloe questioned, wondering if she was misunderstanding the girl’s overture. “Are you fucking kidding me? Why the fuck would I get over it?”

“Didn’t you learn anything from me?” Rachel’s haughty laugh was something that both haunted and soothed Chloe on many restless nights in bed. Right now, it was the former. “I never told you the truth about Frank, I never even told you about Mark or Nathan. Everybody lies, Chloe. Especially Rachel Amber. You’re expecting too much.”

“That’s bullshit,” Chloe fought the conflicting thoughts, of all the times where she had wanted to slap Rachel across the face for getting herself caught up in people who had hurt her. “I don’t care about that anymore. I have no reason to. I loved you, Rachel.”

“Loved me? Past tense?” Rachel asked from behind her, and Chloe turned around immediately and saw her. The stunning woman that the entire school wanted to be involved with, the daughter of the District Attorney and Chloe’s personal angel, Rachel Amber. She wasn’t smiling with the usual allure that always brought Chloe into her arms, regarding Chloe instead with an evocative frown, furrowed brows and pointed chin.

“No. I _still_ love you,” Chloe said. “God, did I have to say that?”

“You have Max, now,” Rachel stared down, examining her fingernails. “From what I’ve heard, she lies, too.”

“What the fuck?” Chloe whispered, walking fast toward the woman before her. She extended a hand, reaching out to touch the thespian, when Rachel pulled away from her. _What the fuck._

 _“_ Everybody lies, no exceptions. I did, Max does, your new friends do, everybody does. Get over it.”

Chloe, the emotional strife now ravaging her heart, ran toward Rachel, intending to wrap her arms around the brunette and tell her to shut the fuck up. When she made contact with Rachel’s body, it was as if she had never been there and Chloe began to fall, her stomach dropping as it occurred.

“Hey sweetheart,” the gentle voice of her father echoed in Chloe’s mind, and she blinked several times. She was laying in bed, except that it wasn’t her own in California, but that of the Caulfield’s guest bedroom. _Why is Dad here at Max’s house?_ Chloe, who had sat up from bed, reached for her face and felt the throbbing pain from some injuries she had sustained.

“Where are you at?” Chloe asked, yawning as she moved to get out of bed. She slid her bare legs off the edge and placed them onto the blue carpet. Remembering her strange spat with Rachel, Chloe suddenly realized that she was experiencing one of her extremely lucid dreams. It had been a few years since she had really experienced one, but it had always been of her father. Rachel was there, yes, but she had never been the focal point of these very vivid dream sequences.

“I’m where I’ve always been,” William replied to her joyfully. “In your heart.”

“Sure you are,” Chloe muttered. Her father was dead, and never coming back. Same for Rachel. She pushed herself off of the guest bed and, looking around the room that almost felt like it was shaking around her, saw the light on in the bathroom. “Max, is that you?”

“Chloe, honey, you need your rest. You’ve had a rough day,” like a challenge to her memory, her father appeared in front of the door to the bathroom, his auburn hair and gray plaid shirt just as she had recalled him wearing the day he had left and never came home. It wasn’t subtle that she was dreaming at this point, but any context to the rough day he claimed she had been through wasn’t there.

“I probably did, taking care of Max,” Chloe folded her arms and looked up at her father, who’s sunny demeanor started to melt her cold heart. That was always going to be the William Price she knew, even with him gone, and nobody could take that away from her.

“From where I see things, Max is the one taking care of you,” William now sat on the edge of the bed, fluffing one of the pillows out. Chloe was sitting beside him, with no recollection of ever sitting back down to begin with. Her dreams were often spontaneous, but they usually carried some value. Instead of overthinking it, she let her eyes rest.

“When she decides to I need to know,” Chloe rolled the last word off of her tongue. She remembered enough about the last week to know Max was hiding things from her again.

“And you have three new friends to top it off. I don’t know about you, but I count that as a win,” William spoke, his voice echoing through her dream. She opened her eyes, and he was gone from the bedside. The walls around her in the room had collapsed, and she was now seated in a wrought-iron chair at a fancy dinner table. When her clothes felt constrained, she realized that she was wearing a pressed suit with a bow-tie and nearly wanted to gag at how square she felt.

“Get this fucking thing off of me,” Chloe demanded, before she spotted, in the darkness, her mother and father engaged in a slow dance. Her father had a tuxedo with a white undershirt and his standard polka-dot tie that Chloe had bought for him some Father’s Day ago. Her mother, for whatever reason, was wearing the wedding dress that she had sold at some point after her dad’s death. Seeing her mom lovingly gaze into her father’s eyes was warming, even if it was only a fantasy.

“Just remember one thing, okay Chloe?” William raised up his intertwined hand as Joyce twirled underneath it, and then pulled her back into his embrace. “Don’t give up on your friends. They’ll be there for you.”

“Yeah, like you’re here for me?” Chloe retorted, though she immediately regretted it. William and Joyce didn’t break from their dance, and instead the clear sound of trombones and bass began. As if from the corner of his face, her dad shot her a wink and a big smirk.

“Honey, you know that’s not fair. Say, do you remember the man who sings this song? Your mother and I loved dancing to it before you got home from school.” Chloe would know “Ole’ Blue Eyes” Frank Sinatra anywhere, and she had walked in on her parents slow-dancing in the kitchen plenty of times. It was still one of her memories left unscathed by her stepfather and all the shit that the city threw at her, and Chloe found herself singing along as her dad began to sing too.

“I’d sacrifice anything, come what might for the sake of having you near,” sang William, as Chloe picked up the next few verses, finding the rhythm on the table with her fingers.

“In spite of a warning voice, that comes in the night, and repeats, repeats in my ear.”

“Don’t you know, little fool!” sang her father as he pecked Joyce on the cheek. “You never can win! Use your mentality, wake up, to reality! But each time I do, just the thought of you, makes me stop, before I begin.”

“’Cause I’ve got you,” Chloe smiled, resting her eyes once more, “Under my skin.”

This time when she opened her eyes, she cried out in agony from the pain throughout her entire body. The bright lights and strange sounds surrounding her were alarming, and it took her a moment to get used to the floodlights even through her apparent blindfold. Her legs and arms were bound to a large metal chair, and that song, that fucking song that she had been singing along to in her dream, was practically screaming over a loudspeaker. Of course, this didn’t cover up the fact that some mechanical noise mixed in with the deathly wail of someone in a lot more pain than Chloe drowned out the song.

Chloe was tied up in the _dark room._ The cold air, the bright lights, the sound system. It was nearly identical to the day she had been here, and it felt like it hadn’t aged a day. It was like that horrific nightmare that her girlfriend went through. If this was some twisted sort of fate, having to endure this just as Rachel and Max had, then she had no faith left in the universe. The punk tested the restraints, feeling the rope rub against her wrists and ankles— _where the fuck did my boots go?_ When she understood that her jacket and footwear were no longer on her person, she shuddered at the thought of that disgusting old man taking articles of clothing off of her.

The shock was wearing off, and the frightening scream combined with a high note from Sinatra came somewhere to the right of her. The scream belonged to Leanne Southgate, but from how intimidating the detective had always been, hearing her like this was visceral. She had survived the car accident only to be thrown into the dark room along with Chloe. She wasn’t just in pain, this was the kind of wailing that came from active torture. The mechanical noise registered in her mind as that of a spinning drill bit, from a power tool. _Oh my fucking god._  
“But each time,” Hugh Olhouser rasped over the power tool, and Leanne’s insane cries, “I’s do just the thought of you, makes me stop just befo’ I begin.” Chloe pulled on the rope holding her to the chair, still making out vague shapes in the light across from her. She had to get away from this, to escape and never look back. This wasn’t what they had come to do and Max was going to find her dead body if she couldn’t get free.

“I asked you’s a question,” Olhouser ceased whatever torture he had engaged with, and Leanne’s bone-chilling pleas to stop were now etched into Chloe’s memory. “I’ll stop if you answer’s the fuckin’ question!” The power tool began to spin again and Leanne’s begging grew more frantic. Never once in Chloe’s life had she been as terrified as she was, bound to that chair. No amount of tugging or thrashing could free her from bondage.

“It’s gonna be over soon,” Olhouser, in a mocking manner, promised to the tortured woman who had ceased her whimpering. “Your partner over there, he did not survive’s my questionin’ like you have. But that can change.” Chloe turned her head despite the blindfold obscuring her vision, the smell of blood in the air.

Olhouser drew near, his footsteps bouncing off of the walls, the power tool he was using still active. Chloe’s limbs were unsteady, and sitting still was a feeling that she had completely forgotten about. He was _right there_ , his bad breath only steps away. On the back of her head, she felt the blindfold come loose, and she got a glimpse at the man standing over her. His apron was stained from blood, and her quick thinking had effectively neutered his facial hair, with the beard misshapen and nearly absent from his face. What she couldn’t miss was the rusty power drill that was placed on a surgical table right next to her, within reach of the kidnapper. His missing teeth shown by a smile made her want to shiver, as he ran his fingertips down the side of her head, her neck, and across her collar bone. Chloe, even with the restraints, quivered at his touch.

“The Oracle said you’s would return,” Olhouser said, pulling his hand away from the bottom of her collar. Chloe, shaking uncontrollably, refused to look away and instead intensely burrowed directly up at his blue eyes.

“Fuck you,” Chloe hissed, watching the old man’s filthy mug contort into a smile only a predator would give before striking prey. Olhouser raised his palm up, as if to strike her. Chloe tensed, waiting for the abuse, when he had some second thought about it and let his palm drop. Off to the left, she finally spotted what had been only a shape behind the blindfold to be the second detective strapped into a chair, bloodied and mutilated. His chair had been thrown to the ground, Mr. Wright still tied down in it. The amount of pooled blood surrounding Mr. Wright’s head could have drowned him, if he had been alive.

“You’s being so rude. You’re gonna help cleanse the world of all evil.”

“I’m not going to help you with anything!” shouted Chloe, trembling. “You’re horrible fucking monster.” _Please, Max. Please. Oh my god, please._

“Don’t say a damn thing to him,” Leanne, somewhere behind Olhouser, demanded of her. The creepy man growled, and over his shoulder, appeared to eye up his last victim.

“You’s shut that whore mouth or you gonna lose the other kneecap!” Returning to Chloe, Olhouser’s hands landed lightly on his shoulders and he sunk his head. “You’s aint wrong. I’s a monster, but I’s only doing what I was told.”

“Who the fuck would want this?” Chloe tartly asked.

“The Yatagarasu,” Olhouser’s eyes traveled down Chloe’s body, as if she wasn’t already feeling humiliated enough. “They’s the one who the Oracle talks to. I reckon tellin’ would be no harm.”

“Who the fuck is the Oracle?” Chloe’s courage was shrinking every waking second, but to this question, Olhouser threw his head into the air and let out a maniac cackle.

“The Oracle got’s a name, yeah. The Yatagarasu told’s me the Oracle helped ‘em get Mister Prescott, and they knew all about that hurricane that destroyed’s the town. But today? This day’s the definin’ moment, as the end of the dark times.”

Chloe, witnessing the man’s descent into madness as he spoke, was confused beyond recognition. “Who the fuck is the Oracle?”

“You’s don’t remember Rachel Amber?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 7/12/18


	17. Fate

**Chapter 17: Fate**

 

Connor was starting to think that Hyram might have been right about leaving the truck at the junkyard. Carrying Max with one arm while she was half-delirious and pointing down which roads to follow and when to turn, the brunet was starting to get pretty worn out. This wasn’t counting Max’s epilepsy episode or that they were still going breakneck speed to save his friends. The photographer, though her bleeding had stopped, was still in rough shape too. Her senses were slowly returning as the minutes passed, evidenced by her somewhat clear and concise communication, but she still couldn’t walk on her own. The reason why was beyond his grasp, just as everything that had just happened seemed to be.

According to Max, they were nearing the laundromat. They had been away from Blackwell about thirty minutes, and even if it wasn’t true, he felt like that was a half hour not spent saving his friends from whatever harm that had befallen them. He couldn’t stand feeling helpless and unable to do anything about it. That was something he had grown up loathing, and no matter how frequently he had felt helpless, it never became easier to handle. However, his thoughts were pushed away as Max told him to make one more right turn.

Steering them around the old city block, he could see the huge parking lot and sign that read “Arcadia Bay Laundry”. Also visible was a crimson trail of blood right on the edge of the parking lot, and Connor urged Max to limp faster. They crossed the street and set foot on one of the painted yellow lines, Connor suddenly feeling like the enormous parking lot was intimidating. Max pulled away from him, standing without assistance, though still very ill in the face. The sun was shining down on them through the murky clouds above, playing off of her bloodied ears and cheeks. He hoped she was well enough to manage on her own. That would give them more of a chance to look for clues or catch up with their friends, wherever they had been taken. Before he could rush over to the blood at the back of the parking lot, Max put out her arm to stop him.

“Hold on,” the wounded time traveler said, her head tilted back at him. “You affect the weather, remember? Whatever we’re about to see, you need to be careful.” Before Connor had a chance to ask for advice, Max grabbed at her head and groaned, muttering incoherently. She had been doing this since they had left Blackwell, although the worst of it had passed. As Connor got closer, he heard her whisper that someone was not supposed to be here.

“Who isn’t supposed to be here?” he asked, taking a broad look around the area to ensure she wasn’t seeing something he couldn’t. “Max, you’re scaring me again.”

“Everyone’s in danger,” Max said quietly, still holding her head. “Someone is taunting me.” This did nothing to settle Connor’s fears, and he brought the radio from his waist up to his lips and called out for his friends one more time. Just like the last time, he received no response.

Connor rushed ahead, intent on discovering the source of the blood trail. Whether or not he was going to like the answer was irrelevant. He _had_ to have an answer. When he neared the corner of the building, where the blood led to, Connor tensed up. He wasn’t sure he would be prepared for the scene that was waiting for him behind the laundromat. It turned out that he was right, as around the corner he found Hyram D. Auteberry, slumped up against a wall. Even through the slam Connor received from the sight, it was obvious how unnatural his friend’s posture rested against the cement. He had been placed there, as arms hung lifelessly into his lap.

Connor slid down onto one knee, grabbing Hyram by his arms and shaking him. “Hyram, holy fuck! Say something.” The dreadlocked boy offered no resistance, not even a smart aleck remark. Connor wildly looked from Hyram’s closed eyes down his entire body until he spotted the bloodied hole in his shirt, coupled with red stains all over his friend’s clothing. He shook Hyram some more, begging for him to say something. _This isn’t happening!_ Connor, still refusing to accept the possibility that his friend could be dead, slapped Hyram across the face. This could _not_ be happening. He had shared so much of his life with this man, someone he considered a brother in every sense of the word could not have been killed, not after everything Hyram had already gotten through.

“Say something! What the fuck,” Connor stifled, falling back onto the pavement in dubiety. _There has to be a way. There_ has _to be a way to undo this._ “Hyram.” The urban explorer’s voice rose in pitch as he gazed upon his friend, finally accepting that he was indeed dead. His nostrils did not move, his chest did not budge. While Connor and Max fucked around at Blackwell Academy, his friends had paid the price for it. To him, it no longer mattered if the plan had been to meet up at Blackwell. This was all their fault, a misstep on their part for relying on Max to fix everything with a magic wand. She had warned them that this could happen, and that warning had been right.

“Connor, remember what I said,” Max spoke, now behind him with a hand against the wall. “Severe emotional trauma could cause you to whip up something scary.”

“That’s just it, isn’t it? The reason this is all happening,” Connor replied, his face stuck on his deceased friend. He felt tears, and then more as he looked up and realized it had begun to rain. “Do you know how it feels, knowing you’re a time bomb?”

“I’ll help you get better,” Max said, checking the weather overhead with haste. Connor finally peeled his eyes away from Hyram’s corpse and over to Max, seeing just how worried she truly was. “When my powers start working again, I’m gonna fix all of this. I promise, nobody will be dead. Right now, I need you to focus on calming down.”

That was something Connor could not do. He already felt himself exhaling more than he could inhale. A slight tingle in his fingertips told him that he needed to at least try, before his hyperventilating became worse. He took another look at Hyram’s corpse, the rain now spattering on his friend’s head. The urban explorer hadn’t noticed up close, but Hyram clutched Chloe’s black skullcap in one hand. What had been his last thoughts? What could have been going through his head as he died, with no one to back him up? _Fuck_!

Connor was truly fighting the tears swelling in his eyes, trying to calm himself through the moment. Max’s promise was hollow; it didn’t mitigate what was right in front of him, not yet. He could hear the weather getting nastier; the rain was pouring horizontally and the sky above was darkening around them. That made it even worse as he felt shame over the simple fact that his tears caused this, that anything he did had a consequence outweighing the benefit. Even more, he felt scared of what could happen if he didn’t find a way to get it under control.

“Connor, please!” He could hear the conflict in her words, how she was, in a way, helpless too. She wouldn’t be able to stop whatever he conjured up in the sky. “You have to do something, look around you!” He did look around, and he not only saw, but felt the wind that was rapidly picking up. If the wind and rain became any worse, it was likely to hurt.

Connor had no idea how to ‘calm down’, holding his breath and slamming his eyelids shut. The rain had started to sting as it pelted his bare hands and neck, until Connor realized the rain was turning into hail. By the second, too, the hail was growing in size. He looked once more back up at Max, seeing the unbridled consternation on her face. She raised her hand in the air as if to grab for him, and the last thing he saw before something huge hit him on his head was Max cringing.

He fell to the ground, hearing the woman call his name over the wailing weather. However, as soon as he had been grounded, his temporary lapse of consciousness must have soothed the overhead beast. He blinked his eyes, his cheek against the rough pavement. The hail storm had come to an abrupt end, as had the swirling winds and the horizontal rain. The clouds remained gray and ominous, but compared to a few minutes ago they were now placid.

“Are you okay?” Max was sitting beside him, her Polaroid present and in her lap. She was watching him, her lips pursed. It took a moment for him to notice how she was drenched, and shivering. He felt his clothes were just as soggy as the photographer’s, though he was not yet shivering like her. _Did she just take a picture? Why now?_

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Connor said, lifting himself off of the ground. “Where’s the piece that hit me?” Max directed him to the large mess of ice behind him. While the ice was all around them, the spot she pointed to was a large, healthy mass of broken shards. “Nice,” he said, getting to his knees. “Nice save, mother nature.” Just like that, the sadness that had turned to chaotic weather had left him. Connor was still far from content, with a war being waged within his own body over his powers, but he was back in control. For now.

“I was about to hit you,” Max shyly admitted, getting a fake smirk out of him. Yeah, he could imagine she was. She had already seen what one megastorm could do, and he wouldn’t have held it against her. “But hey, I know where they went.”

“How did you figure?” Connor asked her, brushing himself off as he got to his feet. He purposely kept his back to his dead friend, because if he had to glance at Hyram one more time, it might start all over again. The pain on the back of his head and face would go away, but the pain of seeing his friend’s corpse would last a lifetime.

“ _Somebod_ y left behind a map,” Max told him, waving the rolled up clump in her hand. “Even though it’s totally soaked, I could make out most of it. I-I’ve,” she stammered, dragging out the moment, “b-been to this place before.” Although the rain had washed most of the blood off of her face, trepidation had taken hold in place of it. Connor could see she wasn’t looking forward to visiting this location.

“Alright. Let’s go fix this shit,” Connor inhaled deeply, feeling soreness in his chest. “Can you walk on your own?”

“For now,” she shortly replied, attempting to smile up at him before sliding her Polaroid back into her bag. The way Max was jumping to get going and chase after Hyram’s murderer struck him as odd, now that he was thinking about it a little more clearly _._ It _really_ didn’t add up that she was taking pictures if her powers weren’t working. Furthermore, she said this lapse in her powers had happened before, but she had still made it through, meaning she had gotten them back.

“Though… Are we really about to follow them?” he lightly asked, rubbing the back of his head and studying the way her eyes darted across the ice on the ground aimlessly. “Wouldn’t it be smarter to hide at the hotel until you’re feeling better?” It did seem like the best option if everything was already fucked. It was also the _safest_ option, if they were walking into danger. Max did not think the same, as she strongly shook her head in opposition. He couldn’t hide his own skepticism, as she grabbed again for her head when he raised a brow. Was it her mental state, maybe?

“I’ve never had this happen before,” Max said. “Not like this. I feel cut off from my powers all together. I’m scared shitless, Connor.” Her eyes reached deep into his soul as she admitted to it. She legitimately dreaded their options, as between each sentence, her lips quivered. “This might be permanent, for all I know. I just want to, just in case it doesn’t work out…get our girls safe.”

So, there was a chance that there was no bringing Hyram back. On top of that, Max was willing to put herself in harm’s way to cover that chance. As quickly as he acknowledged it, he disposed of the thought to avoid the return of unruly weather. It was much easier to contain before it was unleashed, much like emotions themselves, but what she had just said wasn’t encouraging at all. Max joined him in standing, and took a step forward without hindrance. Connor nodded, and she led the way to their hopefully final destination. He wanted, so badly, to give Hyram a proper goodbye, especially _if_ this could be the final one. Instead, he just kept repeating what Max said in his head initially. They would fix this and nobody would be dead. He would keep Max safe until then. It was the only way.

His feet were definitely sore way before they had even hit the dirt road. They were at least a mile down the road, occasionally catching the remains of tire tracks through the mud. Somewhere far away from them, Connor heard thunder roar. He could say with certainty that this time, it was God’s wrath and not his doing. “Are you still okay?” Max asked ahead of him, not having faltered since they had left the laundromat. The truth was that he wasn’t okay, all things considered, but he was just fine enough to lie and suck it up.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Max was way worse off right now than he was. With her powers gone, she was the equivalent of bird with clipped wings. The bird can chirp, it can bite but it can’t fly away when something bigger comes along. “You never told me where we’re going.”

“The d-dark room,” Max stuttered, before halting in her steps. “Uh, the Prescott Barn.” _What the hell was that about? Dark room, like photography dark rooms?_ Max could barely get the words out, and then corrected herself as if it was no big deal. “We don’t have any other leads aside from the map. If it belongs to who I think it belongs to, then everyone is going to be there.”

“Everyone?” Connor didn’t like the sound of that. Max started to walk again, and he stared down at the prints she was leaving in the earth. Her shoes were muddy and worn out, and they both would be that way by the end of the day.

“Probably everyone,” Max shortly said. “Detective Barry, maybe not, but who knows?” Who knows was a good way to phrase what had happened to them on this spring break trip. He didn’t know who had been at the laundromat when Aubrey called for help, but if it was one of the detectives, then they were going to get some of his wrath.

“Max, neither of us are in any shape to fight,” he reminded her. “I can apparently kill us all by accident, and I don’t understand exactly what’s going on with you.”

“Look,” Max told him, her pace quickening. “This day has been coming for a long time. Everyone’s in danger, we can’t stop that right now. But I’ll keel over and die before I do nothing about it.” Connor thought the little brunette was brave—definitely more brave than he could claim to be. He didn’t want anything to happen to her any more than the others, or Hyram. _God, Hyram_.

Another loud crack—distinctly a gunshot—sounded off somewhere ahead of them. This time, Connor recognized it as Olhouser’s shotgun, as clear as he had heard it on his first night in Arcadia Bay. Max stopped, giving him one quick glance before they both began to sprint toward the sound of the shot. He couldn’t believe that for once, he was running towards the shooter rather than away from them. The trees along either side of the road became blurred as they ran faster, until the brunette he had only now passed slipped in the mud and slid to her knees. Connor skidded to a halt on his heel and turned back, seeing her standing back up to get running again.

“Fucking damn it!” Max cursed, covered in mud, and Connor realized he hadn’t seen real anger in the woman until now. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Right about what?” he asked, his brow scrunched and a frown settling on his face.

“What good are we right now without our powers?” she asked, rather tense herself as she began to jog up to him.

“Hey,” Connor reminded her with a reassuring grin. “We still have mine, even if it’s crazy powerful. Now come on!” _Don’t be the one to give up now. You’re the reason that’s kept me going._ He beckoned, as she started to run down the dirt road with him. He hoped that since she had been to this place before, that also meant she had cased it for potential hiding spots. She did grow up in Arcadia Bay, so his reasoning was based on that fact. She certainly didn’t like nor want to be there, but he couldn’t find the courage to just ask her about it. Of course, this didn’t stop him from imagining all of the places that a shooter could also hide among the treeline. Either way, she wasn’t talking about this place easily, so he chose to let her lead conversation until he found reason to speak up.

They continued to jog, even though neither of them were particularly athletic. Connor wasn’t, and he could tell from how badly she was struggling to keep going at her pace that she hardly got any cardio herself. As they got farther and farther down the road, though, his thoughts were less on the lack of oxygen in his body and more about stopping another one of his friends from being killed. It was extremely bad that they hadn’t heard a second or a third shot, implying someone had either hit their mark or had given up. He couldn’t afford to assume either way. Very soon, there was a good chance that he might have to summon lightning again if things went any farther south. If he wasn’t prepared for the worst after all of this, then he would be a fool.

Very soon turned out to be nearly accurate as Max pulled him into the woods only minutes afterward. Through the forest they could spot the clearing where a rickety red wooden farmhouse was, though the entire front of the residence had collapsed onto a familiar black sedan with a DC license plate. Somewhere nearby, a gas-powered generator ran extremely loudly. Just as he was about to give Max his attention, he spotted it: the damn vehicle that had gotten them into all of this trouble to start with. Aubrey’s SUV was parked near the dirt road.

“Still as scary as the first time,” Max sighed, taking a quick breath.

“So you’ve been here before?” Connor asked, watching Max’s eyes widen at his reply. He had obviously figured it out, but thought she might shed some more light on it. From the looks of things, this was a lot more than just a place in Arcadia Bay. Dark room, combined with this slip. It was starting to become clear that she hadn’t meant to say either one of those things to him.

“Yes, I’ve been here,” Max shrugged him off and scanned the remnants of the barn to their right, before she left the forest and headed to the scene of the crash. Connor was on his way to the car as well, drawing the knife that Chloe had given him. Pushing for more details would be asinine right now, especially with everything else fresh on his mind.

The farmhouse was wrecked, and the front of the sedan had been completely crunched like a can by the wall it had gone through. Max checked the front of the car, while Connor found himself investigating the back seat, seeing the blood on the floor of the right seat that also trailed up into the center console and dashboard at the front. There had been a really bad fight inside, because as far as he could tell someone, or multiple someones, had been bleeding profusely.

“There’s blood everywhere,” Max remarked squeamishly, and Connor agreed with the feeling. The blood hadn’t traveled away from the car, nor was there any indication as to where the survivors were.

“What the fuck happened?” Connor asked rhetorically, still holding the knife that once belonged to the erratic DJ. He felt like someone could be watching them from all around and waiting for an opportunity to shoot them. He suddenly didn’t want to be out in the yard of the farmhouse, and searched for any confirmation that his friends could still be nearby, at the least. If the storm had reached this far back in town two years ago, it must have changed direction for the old house to still be here. There were remains of wooden fence separating them from a few broken walls that looked like they once held up a rooftop. Come to think of it, that was where the two of them heard the sound of the generator.

“They’re down in the Dark Room,” Max repeated, this time with more confidence. _The_ Dark Room, he noticed she said.“But if there was a gunshot, then that means somebody isn’t down there.” ‘Somebodies’ with a shotgun happened to be an extremely short list, and Connor didn’t like the way that any time Max mentioned this ‘Dark Room’, she became terrified. The general fearlessness that the time traveler conveyed had been brought to a standstill each time it was brought up.

“Max, where we going?” Connor asked, seeing Max’s uneasy eyes and her bitten lip. He noticed that she was transfixed by the location where they were hearing the generator, what looked like it had once been a barn, and turned to look in that direction too. “That where it’s at?”

“It’s,” she drawled, “a high-tech bunker. From the sound of things, it’s running again.” _A high-tech bunker, all the way out here? Just how much wealth_ did _the Prescotts have?_ “The last time I saw it, there was a keypad lock to get inside.”

“And you can’t go back in time to figure out the code, can you?” Connor realized. “You know, I’ve already blown open one bunker this week.”

“Let’s check first. That was a long time ago.” Max said, though she hadn’t moved from her spot. Connor took a step forward, looking back to her, until her blue eyes broke away from the Dark Room’s apparent entrance and locked with his. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry yet,” Connor turned his sights back on the Dark Room’s entrance, and marched forward. Max, despite her hesitation, followed behind. The closer they got to it, the louder the gas generator became. By the time the two had reached the barely intact wooden wall, it was loud enough to distinguish two generators side by side. That was a lot of power running down into an underground bunker, and Connor imagined how much carbon monoxide was being produced from the machines. Olhouser was not only intelligent enough to leave the generators outside, but he had even created dirt mounds surrounding the bunker’s entrance. That technique ensured the bunker would not flood, and given the fact that they were mid-May in Oregon, Olhouser had known way more than Connor initially thought. It only made him question further who the Oracle could be, and how they knew so much about him, the storms, and the end of the world.

Connor moved to the edge of the wall, finally looking around the corner to see the makeshift canopy that Olhouser had built to shelter the generators from the weather. Orange and black extension chords, along with several outlet adapters, ran along the staircase that traveled down into the earth from the generators. _Gotta give this guy props, he’s truly a survivalist._ Just like the car had had a ton of blood on the inside, the steps that he could see were stained red.

He pulled his head back behind the wall, where an impatient Max waited. “What should we do now?” Max, never breaking eye contact, frowned at him and didn’t say a word. He turned his head to side-eye her, and her cheeks rose in what he thought was either a forced smile or a reaction to his own disapproval.

“What choice do we have?” Max asked. “We go inside.” Connor nodded grimly, and as he motioned to leave their cover behind the wall, Max reluctantly did so on her own. They both stepped toward the generators, mindful of potential threats hiding below and all around. Soon, they were past the machines and stood at the top of the bloodied steps headed down to the Dark Room. Connor checked on Max, ensuring she wasn’t about to vomit or pass out. She _really_ did not want to be here, as he noted that she’d balled her fists as they descended the steps. While he would have usually felt sorry and desired to make her feel better, he was more concerned with what they were about to walk in on inside of the Dark Room.

Once his foot hit the final step, he realized that even if they rescued Aubrey and Chloe, they still would not find all of his friends safe and sound. Max was going to fix that, though, granted her worst fear about her power wasn’t realized. _I just need to keep remembering that._ The steps had led down to a narrow, dark corridor, where the locked door Max had been concerned with was cracked open, the extension chords running inside at the floor. What Connor picked up on fast was that she wasn’t kidding about the high-tech part. This bunker looked like a fallout shelter, almost like the stories of the nuclear bunker hidden away in Orlando, Florida. The blood trail ran along the concrete floor, from the staircase past the large door. As he kept forward, he realized that Max had latched onto his dominant arm. It spoke volumes about her contempt of this place, and even if he held the knife with that arm, he wasn’t going to shake her off yet. She needed the support.

“We’ve got this,” Connor whispered as they neared closer and closer to the door. Somewhere inside, perhaps at the very back of the bunker—she had never said a word on if this was one of those giant bunkers built for entire families, or just a doomsday bunker—there was music and singing. Faint, but echoing off of the walls beyond the door, he could hear a deep-voiced singer, with some traditional Jazz music in unison.

Connor reached the door, with nothing but a bright light shining back at him through the crack. Max had kept pace with him, though she was still clutching his right arm tightly. He pushed the door open, with a creak following as it revealed what looked like a storage room in disrepair. The extension chords ran wildly about, plugged into a refrigerator, several standing lamps, a ground-level fan, and a laptop sitting on a dusty office desk at the far end. Along the wall were shelving units where all sorts of nonperishable food items sat, and closest to the metal door was a stack of ammunition. So much ammunition, in fact, that ATF would have a party if they were to bust this place.

Aside from the creepy music playing farther around the bend of the room, the only sound he heard was a familiar sobbing. Connor had to temper himself from bursting around the corner to rescue Aubrey without knowing what lay ahead. It killed him not to, though. Max let go of his arm, and Connor could see that she was overcoming her fear of the place and getting ready for whatever was about to happen. The urban explorer was happy, considering that he needed someone to have his back right now. As Aubrey’s sobbing became worse, however, all Connor could focus on was the pain behind her crying. He couldn’t stand it, and as they reached the partition between the storage room and the rest of the bunker, he could finally see his friend, and immediately his worried frown transformed into a furious grimace.

Aubrey was strapped down to a metal chair, blindfolded, and a rag wrapped around her forehead. Behind her was a giant white curtain, and he could see Chloe imprisoned in a similar manner. She was tied down, blindfolded, with gauze wrapped around her right leg. Connor, seeing nobody else in the room to stop them, rushed ahead of Max toward Aubrey. “Aubrey,” he said, attempting to reassure her. She stopped sniffling and murmured his name. “Yeah,” he said enthusiastically. “We’re here.”

“Holy shit,” Chloe said in a raised voice. “I was starting to think you guys died.”

“Not allowed. You’re stuck with me,” Max said, leaving Connor to cut Aubrey lose from her bonds. He reached around and cut her wrists free, and before he could move on to her chest and ankles, Aubrey’s arms wrapped around his shoulders and she began to cry until choking it back.

“Steady, Aubrey,” Connor requested as he sliced through her ankle restraints and then, cutting through the rope anchoring her to the back of the seat, pulled her up on to her feet. By now, she had yanked off the blindfold and, without Connor truly processing it, she kissed him on his cheek and buried her face into his neck. He let her cry, putting his own hands on her back. He had one of his friends back, and that was the best he could do right now. The tension in his shoulders had literally melted off of his body as she wrapped her arms around him. “It’s alright, it’s alright. We’re getting the fuck out of here.”

“Connor,” Max said. “We need to cut Chloe loose.”

“I know, you really _hate_ the sight of me bound. I would’ve gotten free if you gave me ten more minutes,” Chloe mused, and god, did Connor need to hear her upbeat attitude again. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“I love you too,” Max replied, as Connor and Aubrey rushed behind the curtain, where he was appalled by the amount of blood surrounding two empty metal seats at the opposite end of the room. Connor looked at Chloe, whose face held a pissed off yet determined expression. “Don’t worry about that! Let’s get out of here before he gets back,” she urged him, as he tossed Max the knife and stared around the rest of the room. The Dark Room was a torture chamber, with all sorts of tools, weapons, and medical supplies. It looked like a lot of the things like the first aid stuff had already been here for a while, and there was no way, according to the stuff Max had learned and shared with them, that Olhouser had been stockpiling it all if he had only recently come to Arcadia Bay. If this was one of the Prescott properties, then there was an obvious, seriously fucked up implication about that family—one that was far worse than this idea Connor had about Mr. Prescott having something to do with the storm. To make this place even more disturbing, Max was so familiar with it that she referred to it by name. What the hell had happened to these poor girls in the dark room?

Once Chloe was free, she stood up on her bare feet, though with a limp, and pulled Max in by the scruff of her neck. Max then stole a kiss from the punk, before wrapping one arm around the girl’s shoulder. Max did not apologize and Chloe did not question what had happened, only expressing relief that they were both alright. Aubrey was loopy and had difficult standing still, but she was alive. He asked if she was lightheaded, but she answered that she wasn’t sure. Chloe hadn’t been drugged, so he was at a loss in terms of understanding. Despite that, the fact that she was alive and cooperating was good enough for Connor even as she fell behind the three of them while he led the way.

“I think he stashed all the guns near the front door,” the punk pointed as they rounded the corner back into the storage room. “It’s time to gear up.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he said, as they began to hear the hum of the generators above ground. Several steps later, Connor and the gang were hovering over the stockpiled mess of ammo cartridges, and while the narrator hadn’t fired a gun before, Chloe definitely had. She dropped to the ground gracefully and began to rummage around, locating what he figured to be an appropriate cartridge for the pistols sitting on the rack next to them.

“For a doom prepper, he’s got a lot less gear here than you’d expect,” said Connor, spotting three identical pistols and a green handgun. Chloe looked up from her rummaging and pointed to the guns.

“Pass me the VP9,” Connor’s bewildered reaction to her request made Chloe laugh. “The green gun, boy. Give me the green gun.”

“Oh, right. Sorry,” Connor tossed the green handgun over to Chloe, and she pulled the cartridge out of the grip and loaded it up with fresh bullets. “My knowledge of guns goes as far as FPSRussia.”

“What kind of security guard doesn’t know guns?” Chloe scoffed, cocking the top of the green gun back and brandishing it. The gun had been apparently loaded before they had ever touched it.

“A mall fuck, apparently.” Connor sneered at them as he reached for one of the guns on the display rack. Picking it up and examining the blackened metal, Chloe nodded in approval.

“Nice revolver,” she said. He had no idea the difference between a pistol and a revolver, although after examining the cylinder, he surmised that was likely the distinction. Max held her own gun, though the brunette appeared uneasy once again. Connor saw it coming before Chloe did, and as he indicated Max was about to fall on her ass, Chloe caught his meaning and leaned in to her. “Max, what’s going on?”

“It’s like someone flipped an off switch at Blackwell, and my powers were gone,” Max slowly said to her girlfriend, the two of them sharing a disgruntled frown. “I’m so sorry, you three. I’m so, so sorry. I-I promise, this is getting fixed.”

While Aubrey had nothing pertinent to say to this other than a curled lip of pity, Chloe pulled Max in close, Max’s legs pressed against her own hurt leg. He read the pain on her lips as she spoke, holding it in. “Max. Nothing’s your fault. Keep it together for us all, okay? We’re almost out of this shithole. Can you do that?” she asked, staring down at the wearied time traveler. Max bobbed her head slightly, giving Chloe the affirmation Connor figured she needed. “Okay. Connor, switch?”

“Huh?” he watched her reach for the revolver in his grasp and offer in its place the VP9. He obliged her and switched off, remembering for a moment where he had stashed the knife. _If I still need it, just gotta pull it out of my back pocket_. She pulled the cylinder open and began loading it with bullets, before snapping it shut. “Oh, I get it.” He didn’t know shit about guns and this one was all ready to be fired.

“You’ve got about sixteen bullets until that goes dry,” Chloe said about his new weapon. “By all means, go fucking nuts if you have to, but make sure one of those sixteen hits him.”

“What’s the plan?” Connor asked, feeling the weight of the gun in his hands. Chloe, although her face had been grim for a few seconds, was getting that undaunted look she had always shown around him. He would never complain about Chloe Price’s punk attitude, and surely neither would his two cohorts.

“We get the fuck out of here and kill him if he gets in our way,” she declared solemnly. Nobody in the group appeared ready to object. Aubrey’s vehicle was no longer a priority. “He’s the only one posing a threat. The detectives are gone.”

“Dead?” asked the brunet, watching her closely as she only stared back at him, unsmiling. “Dead.” Too bad. It would have been nice for her to face some kind of penance for Hyram’s murder. He had nothing to say to the hillbilly chasing them around in that regard. But the two private investigators? Oh yeah, different story all together.

Connor, Chloe, Max, and Aubrey were all armed as they ascended the steps from the Dark Room. He may have been gripping the VP9’s trigger too tightly, but Chloe, even when wounded, was unwavering. There were so many qualities the punk displayed that Connor only hoped to have one day, and her bravery was one of them. Then there was Max, who was brave in a different way, holding her gun closer to her thigh. Max Caulfield, who had fantastical abilities to create the perfect outcome to any situation, who could live with herself knowing that time was a melting pot of chaos if tampered with. At this point, Aubrey had her own gun tucked into her waistline. Even she, the faux bluenette he had known since High School appeared more resolute than he felt.

Chloe had explained that Olhouser had left to dispose of Detective Leanne Southgate—her actual name, the punk revealed—and Connor understood that “body disposal” was an arduous effort. He was bothered by the suggestion that someone like Olhouser, a survivalist, would even try getting rid of her with the weather conditions as they had been. He’d be digging through mud and wet soil, a valiant task if he succeeded but ultimately pointless. Then again, that random shot they had heard on the way over had given him a different idea of “disposal”.

Connor couldn’t stand thinking about it anymore, even if Detective Southgate had been piece of work. He didn’t want to think about Mr. Wright, Ms. Southgate, or Hyram. He wanted to be in bed at the hotel, helping Max get her powers back in flux. With that in mind, maybe it was even time to call the police.

They reached the end of the long, imposing steps to the overworld, but there was something absent in the air. The birds weren’t chirping, and the breeze that had accompanied them that day had disappeared. Slowly, Connor poked his head up over the concrete foundation to peer at the abandoned crop fields and the forest surrounding them. He could feel lights playing off of the back of his head, as well as on the generators beside them. He turned, where Chloe was already staring, at blinding headlights. The beige SUV was facing them, having been moved from its last resting spot.

“It was fortold’s that you’d come,” the hickish, broken English that Aubrey and Hyram had described bellowed out. _Oh, shit._ “Connor Papworth,” he enunciated the boy’s last name. “Do you’s have any idea what this means for’s us? For’s the world?”

“Down, down!” Chloe shouted in a whisper, and everyone ducked to a squat, readying their guns. There was something pounding in Connor’s chest, threatening to rip itself free. Again, the sound of thunder crackled somewhere on the horizon. The car had been a distraction, to keep them from spotting Olhouser from whatever vantage point he held. This was beyond bad, this was _fucked six ways to Sunday_ bad.

“Alright,” Olhouser called from his unknown position. “Come on out. I’s only wants the two of you’s.” The urban explorer was petrified, hearing the proclamation that he wanted not just him, but another one of his friends. “Maxine Caulfield, was it? Boy, you’s should’sa heard the way Mister Madsen spoke bout's you. He had no idea ‘bout’s the things you can do, did’s he?”

“What in the fuck is going on?” Max asked, clutching her head in her hands. Blood began running out of her ears again, and Connor was coming close to a panic. “He knows who I am?”

“Why do you want us?” Connor shouted out of the vertical shaft. They could figure out where he was if he kept speaking, and from the sound of it, Connor might have a shot at doing _something_ at least. Olhouser might not want him dead, which left him as the only person who could get close enough to put him down. It was the last thing the urban explorer thought in his capabilities, and he wasn’t even sure if he could commit to it, yet. Nevertheless, it was probably their only option without Max’s time traveling.

“I told’s you,” Olhouser replied, angrily. “You’s gonna fix all the wrong in the world. Maxine here, on the other hand’s, gonna doom the world to eternal damnation if I don’t stop’s her! The Yatagarasu's said’s as much!” Aside from trying to understand what the hell Yata-what-a-who was, there was another perturbing catch to Olhouser’s reply. _He’s going to kill Max._ So bringing her along was out of the question, if he did anything. He took another step up, nearly eye level with the world above.

“He wants to take you alive and me dead,” Max murmured, both hands on her head. “This is so fucked up.”

“Connor!” Chloe, grabbing hold of him, shook his attention off of the threatening man somewhere unseen to her puzzled face instead. “Don’t go out there.”

“Why not? We’re sitting ducks down here. He either waits and picks us off one by one or blows us away all at once, and he obviously needs me alive,” Connor argued, watching her brows narrow. His newfound courage captured the both the bluenette and the photographer’s attention, as well.

“Because he’s talking about taking _you_ , you can literally throw plasma bolts, to save the planet. Put two and two together, Connor,” Chloe said, exhaling and staring over her shoulder. “Listen, I’ve been tied up long enough for him to say some really out there shit. A lot of it scares the shit out of me, and even more of it has to be impossible, but… whoever the Yatagarasu is, whatever their end goal is, this is way more than just some crazy fucker in the woods. Just imagine what they could do with your power. They’re going to _weaponize_ you.”

“Chloe,” the time traveler said, pressing her back against the wall. “I think he’s right, though. He’s the only one who could come out of this hole without being shot.”

“And I’m the only one of you with a knife,” Connor reminded them, Chloe’s frown softening just a bit. The punk looked as if she wasn’t sure whether to smirk or to try talking him down. “Let me get close enough to him, and then I—”

“No offense, buddy,” Chloe started, burrowing a hole into him with her eyes, “but I don’t see murder in your future.” Connor, disappointed with the lack of support, looked to Max first. She did not meet his eyes, giving him the impression she wasn’t sure she could argue. Aubrey shook her head no, vehemently, in protest of his suggestion.

“Do you have a better idea?” Connor waited, the punk offering nothing else in return. “I thought so. I’m going to have to do this. Nobody said I wanted to.”

“If you do this, you _have t_ o, Connor. There is no way out of this unless you kill him. You get that, right?”

“I get it,” he said, his entire body trembling. He actually had to kill someone. This wasn’t some sick joke, this was actually happening. This was something he had always worried about with his job, being in a state with plenty of standoffish people and gun-owning citizens. This time, he wouldn’t be in a uniform, he wouldn’t have backup to come running, and he could blow things up if he did this wrong. _Wait a minute… Could I do it again?_ Using his powers to incapacitate Olhouser was something Connor had, ultimately, neglected to consider. It was no longer off the table, but only if he could do it right. “But he won’t hurt me,” the weather manipulator said with a new certainty in his voice as he slowly rose from the stairs up to ground level.

Aside from the generators running at full power to his left, he could see the airborne particles floating through the gleam of the SUV’s high beams, and far from their location lightning danced across the horizon. He asked himself the question once more: _can I summon the lightning, just like the first time?_ He found his eyes adjusting to the world, homing in on the man that had been chasing them for three days. Yes, this man who had tied up two of his friends in a torture bunker, executed the two detectives, and now wanted to abduct him, was finally in front of him. Except Olhouser was not hiding among the treeline, nor was he in the vehicle brightly shining it’s lights in their direction. He was in the middle of the clearing, his shotgun aimed toward Connor.

“Smart move, Mister Papworth,” Olhouser smiled, his broken teeth disgusting Connor. There was something else different about the weirdo in his heavy combat boots and raincoat with overalls underneath. His face looked different than the previous two encounters, like someone had psychotically taken scissors to his hair. “I want’s you to drop my gun and walk’s forward.”

Connor, gaping at the vile man, hesitated to comply. Lightning could strike from _quite_ a distance, even as much as the current distance between him and his adversary. Olhouser gritted his teeth, waiting to see the urban explorer’s next move. Connor slowly held out the gun towards Olhouser, contemplating if he could just _do_ it. He didn’t even remember _how_ he had done it. All he had to go on were the memories of watching his friends come close to death and extending out his hand. He thought about what Max had said to him, about how it would just come natural to him eventually, but if he fucked up, then it was back to square one with hurricane winds and hail flying everywhere. Was it worth trying, at least?

“Drop’s the gun,” Olhouser reiterated. Connor, hating how stuck in indecision he was, dropped the green handgun to the ground, walking forward and away from it. Giving up the gun wasn’t an encouraging move if he couldn’t even bring himself to electrocute the guy, but he could still get close enough to pull the knife out. None of this made it easier, as his trembling only grew less contained with each step towards the survivalist. Olhouser’s smile became wider, though his shotgun remained steadied. “Good man. Now, get’s on your knees.”

 _What?_ He wasn’t even close enough to strike at the man, much less lunge forward. He stopped, confused and distressed, before Olhouser gestured for him to get to the ground. “I said’s, get’s on your knees.”

“For what?” Connor shouted, holding out his arms, still trembling. “So you can shoot me where I stand, in the middle of the damn cornfield?” If that gave any indication to where Olhouser was, perhaps Chloe could shoot at him and knock the old guy off guard. _Or shoot your ass instead, genius._ It was wishful thinking, of course, but he was running out of room to improvise unless he just let Zeus work his magic.

“Not quite. So I’s can incapacitate you,” Olhouser’s voice deepened as he approached, his shotgun directly pointed at Connor’s chest. “Do you think I’s blind and stupid?” _Perhaps, you’re still cutting the distance between us_. “No, Mister Papworth. You aint’s gettin’ the jump on me. No sir-ree. Your cop friends’ already been tryin’ that, and I got’s a secret to tell you,” he stopped just ahead of Connor, a haughty smile in his countenance. “They’s both dead,” he whispered joyously.

Connor did not get on his knees and started to backtrack, as Olhouser growled and pumped his shotgun to assure Connor it was ready to be used. Even if he raised his hand up and hoped he could roast Olhouser, he realized that this man had to have known that was a possibility from the start. Upon coming to this conclusion, he grew even more concerned with the lack of distance now between the two of them. “You can’t kill me,” Connor, still unsure that his ploy would work, said. “If I’m going to save the world, then you need me alive.”

“Funny thing about that word, alive,” Olhouser mused. “I’s only need you breathin’. Now, we’s can do this the easy way, or we’s can do this the hard way. Which one’s it gonna be?”

Connor was infuriated, but not in the least surprised, to see the plan go down in flames as quickly as it had been conceived. Yet again, he was helpless, and could do nothing about it unless he just took the risk and zapped him right there and then. He might kill himself at such a close range, and he still knew absolutely nothing about the extent of these powers. If it worked, though, then all he’d have to do was not think about the fact that he was trying to kill a man, and get his friends out of there. But as Olhouser came within footsteps of him, he put his open hand on Connor’s shoulder and, when Connor still refused to get on his knees, Olhouser slammed the butt of his shotgun into Connor’s gut. With the wind knocked out of him, the urban explorer collapsed onto all fours.

“As for the rest of you whippersnappers,” he hissed. “Well, you’ll see.” Connor was recovering from the gut punch, but he could hear the rattle of a shell inside of the chamber as Olhouser raised it to eye level. He was about to shoot at someone, and so Connor screamed in a fit of rage as he punched the old man square in his groin. If there was any time for Chloe and company to help out, it would be now.

Hugh Olhouser cursed in pain, and as Connor reached for the knife in his back pocket, the old man kicked Connor into the dirt before reaching for his extremities. This was Connor’s chance to get him on the ground and finish the job, even though the brunet’s head was throbbing from the blow to his head. With the survivalist distracted, Connor made that split second decision. This decision would change his life, forever. The urban explorer, though writhing from being hit not once—but twice now, this time across the face, pulled the knife out of his pocket and jabbed it straight into Olhouser’s chest. With his blood already boiling, hand still on the knife, Connor rose from the ground, watching the deranged old man’s face, which had always been smug and unreasonably content, reshape itself into fear. The fear of dying.

Connor pulled the knife out of his chest and then plunged it back in, pushing the old man into the dirt. Olhouser landed with a loud thud, rattling as he held the end of the knife with his hands. Connor, ready to explode and scream until his lungs could no longer function, grabbed for the shotgun on the ground and turned to stare at the man lifeless on the ground, the blood beginning to drain out of his body. He wanted to get out of this situation as fast as he could, reliving that moment over and over in his head. He had stuck the blade deep into Olhouser’s sternum on the second time, even harder than the first. Upon turning around to face the Dark Room entrance, a luminous flash patterned the sky above, followed by one of the loudest bouts of thunder he had ever heard. That one was definitely his doing, representing exactly how chaotic his mind felt at that moment.

The people who were there to greet him, Aubrey, Max, Chloe, were in total shock. Perhaps, that Connor surpassed expectations, but the fact was that he had just killed a man in a ruthless, though far from unfeeling way; his brain was racked over the experience, but he had no shred of remorse over it. “C-Connor,” Aubrey stuttered. “That was,” he waved her off, preferring not to look her in the eye about it.

“Was the last thing I’ve ever wanted to do,” he lied. “Just find your keys and let’s go.” He eventually locked a gaze with the girl anyway, and saw the way she was judging him. This was still one of his best friends, who shared a well of empathy for him, yet now there was a feeling of horror, of dread. It was, perhaps, horror of her best friend committing an act she had no idea had been in him. But as he tried a smile to change her apprehensive face into something softer, an explosion to his right pushed them down into the Dark Room’s corridor. Within seconds, his arm felt as if he had been hit by a car. His ears were filled with an overpowering tinnitus that made him nauseous.

Connor sat up, spotting Chloe slouched against a wall, with Max hovering over her, freaking out. The punk’s arm looked scorched and severely burned, but that was nothing compared to her disfigured face. His own arm had been shredded, and his clothing torn to bits. He couldn’t even _feel_ it anymore. Above them, a fire was raging that filled the corridor with smoke. At the very bottom of the staircase was one of the generators, leaking enough gas to feed the flames. Already, he was coughing on the fumes. If only they had grabbed Hyram’s duffle bag, the respirators would have been a life saver for this.

He heard someone else coughing behind him, and as his eyes trailed the red pool of blood beside him back to Aubrey, his heart dropped. Her left arm was gone at the forearm, blown away in the explosion, and most of the exposed skin on her body looked just like Chloe’s face. With her right hand, she kept grabbing for an arm that was no longer there, convulsing in shock. Connor, his breath stammering, called out for her and her wildly darting eyes met his. She stopped searching for the missing arm and instead grabbed at his face, wiping the fresh blood across his cheek. This was the first time in his entire life he had wanted to die rather than face the reality of a situation.

Aubrey, the life extinguishing from her, drooped onto the floor. Right in front of him, she died. That made two, and potentially three deaths on his plate if Chloe didn’t wake. Connor wasn’t going to prod her, shake her back to life. The signs were clear that Aubrey Snyders had just passed from a lack of blood and shock. That helplessness to save people, that uselessness he had felt his entire life? In that moment, it died with her. Connor, though staggering to his feet, stood at his full height, facing the flames. He stuck out his undamaged arm, and used all of the animosity in his heart, all the pain he wore on his sleeve, and felt the smoke blow past them like a moving wall, into the bunker. Never had rage felt so empowering before then. Raising his other arm as much as he could—while the feeling was gone, he could see and direct it fine—he directed his hands into the air and threw them forward. The smoke flooded out of the corridor, as Connor intended.

Max watched his raw strength, but was quickly distracted by a stirring Chloe. The oil already spilled on the staircase was still feeding the raging fire, but he used his sudden strength, focusing solely on the charred generator laying on the staircase, to whisk it away with the wind. In a matter of moments, the burning fire had ceased. The rain overhead would ensure nobody else would go up in flames. The canopy over the entrance, which had also caught aflame after the explosion, had long been carried away by the hurricane winds at his fingertips.

Olhouser was out there. He had gotten hold of Connor’s VP19, and he had shot the generators. Ostensibly, it made sense that Olhouser had intended to do that from the get go once Connor had surrendered, but because hadn’t finished the job, his friends had been killed over it. When he had walked away, the man hadn’t moved; he hadn’t even looked like he was breathing, much less alive. All it could have taken was a few more seconds, or even just one shotgun shell into him to ensure he had been dead. This time, Connor would not make another mistake. This time, Hugh Olhouser would be ash and dust. For once in his fucking life, Connor was going to fix things.

“Connor, calm the fuck down!” Over the blaring wind, he could make out Max’s plea. “This is what I was talking about! You have got to chill before this gets way out of your control!”

He would calm down after the man who had robbed him of his friends was gone. The special gift Max had that they had been relying on to save the day had left the building, and he was starting to feel convinced that it wasn’t coming back. Max couldn’t change the fact that his arm had been shredded to the muscle, Aubrey and Hyram were dead, the two detectives were tortured, or Chloe’s injuries. Still her abilities remained neutered. In his mind, any chance of fixing this timeline looked slim. That ship had slowly sailed. Emerging from the staircase, Connor spotted the nasty old survivalist, still clutching the knife in his chest. Instead of fear of death, or even anger, Hugh Olhouser had a look of amazement on his face.

“It’s beautiful,” Olhouser shouted, cackling. “I knew you’s needed just a kick before that potential came out.” Connor inched closer and closer to the man, wanting to be sure he could watch the light leave the man’s eyes. Although, in this case, light leaving the man wasn’t going to be an accurate description.

“Connor!” Max shouted right behind him this time. “Don’t do this!”

“Heh,” Connor chuckled. “If you think this is impressive, then I’m about to _blow you away_ ,” he snarled at the grounded old man. He watched Olhouser tilt his head and cringe, as if swallowing something unsavory. If this was all Connor could do with such raw, untamed strength, then maybe that was his fate.

“Get’s it over with,” Olhouser invited him. “I’s done what I needed to do.”

Connor groaned as he remembered the feeling he had at Blackwell the very first night, noticing that this time he was more collected than he had ever been, and unleashed the bolt of lightning on the man. The strike was so powerful that it engulfed the entire man’s body. He felt someone grab hold of his arms while he screamed, and the bright flash of lightning grew exponentially larger until the wind picked up and the rain stung as it struck him. The blinding flash ended, and he was somewhere else entirely.

Standing on a cliff face over what he realized was Arcadia Bay, Connor could not look away from the enormous funnel barreling straight for the mainland. This was unlike any hurricane he had ever witnessed; this hurricane was literally the size of the entire town, with giant pieces of the surrounding land and infrastructure flying around the outer shell of the storm. The wind itself was so powerful that he fought to stand still, backing away from the cliff and noticing he was outside of a lighthouse that appeared to struggle holding its own against the force of the winds.

“This is my storm,” from behind, an incredulous Max Caulfield spoke. “I caused this. I caused all of this.” Connor twirled around just in time to see a younger Max, the same jacket and same camera bag, gesturing to the giant hurricane as she stared at a younger Chloe with the same jacket, different skullcap, but blue hair. The punk was just as incredulous, clearly taking in the immense scene before them and processing exactly what was happening. Max threw her arms out in frustration, now staring right at Connor—or perhaps, right _through_ Connor. “I changed fate and destiny so much that,” she placed a hand on her forehead, taking a raspy breath, “I actually, _did_ alter the course of everything!” Chloe continued from watching Max, and back to the impending doom in the harbor, the sheer awe on her face growing heavier each time Max looked to her. “And all I really did create was just, death and destruction!”

“What the fuck am I seeing?” Connor said, as neither the punk nor the photographer answered him. That monumental strength he had found only moments ago was gone, and Connor was back to feeling infinitesimal next to the colossal hurricane. Connor reached over and pinched himself, but nearly staggered upon realizing that he couldn’t see himself—his arms were somehow invisible, because he sure as shit felt the pinch. Chloe’s awesome stare turned into a reluctant head shake as she walked forward, putting a hand on the panicking woman’s shoulder. As the punk ushered her to turn around, Max faced Chloe.

“Fuck all of that, okay? You were given a power. You didn’t ask for it… and you saved me. Which had to happen, all of this did… except for what happened to Rachel.” As Chloe raised her hand to her heart, Connor suddenly realized what he was witnessing. _Oh my god._ Goosebumps were the first thing to come to mind as it dawned on him. He had somehow been transported backwards in time, to October of 2013. This was the week that Arcadia Bay had been obliterated by one of the strangest unexplained mysteries of the twenty-first century. If what he was hearing was true, than that meant _Max_ was responsible for this, and he had been so, so wrong about everything. _This_ was why she was skittish over the topic, and he had just committed a similar mistake.

“But without your power, we wouldn’t have found her! Okay, so you’re not the goddamn Time Master,” Max’s gaze dropped to the ground as Chloe seized her once again, “but you’re Maxine Caulfield, and you’re amazing.” _Wow, she used Maxine. This was a serious moment indeed._ Connor could feel the raw emotion, the tension between the two girls, and even through the rain, Chloe’s eyes were puffy and teary. Max too, was on the verge of tears, obviously moved by Chloe’s words. “Max,” Chloe said, her mouth agape, holding out a photograph he could not see, “This is the only way.” She passed it into Max’s hands as she spoke.

“I feel like I took this shot a thousand years ago,” Max stared straight through Connor again, holding the Polaroid with both of her hands. She refused to look directly at it, and Chloe took another step ahead, as if looking for words of encouragement.

“You,” Chloe looked afraid to speak her mind, Max now fixated on horizon instead of the punk. “You could use that photo, to change everything right back to when you took that picture.” At this notion, Max looked at Chloe as if she were crazy, as if that was the last thing she wanted to do. “All that would take,” Chloe tripped on her words, “is for me to… to,” she whimpered, bringing her hands up to her face. _Is she talking about offing herself?_

“Fuck that! No,” Max said. “No way. You are my number one priority now. You are all that matters to me.” Chloe let her hands drop from her face, appearing dumbstruck.

“I know. You proved that over and over again,” she indicated, toward the storm in the bay. Connor couldn’t believe what he was seeing or hearing. Max could have undone this catastrophe from one simple rewind? Had she use her powers so much that she literally summoned the hurricane? “Even though I don’t deserve it.” _Oh god, Chloe…_ Despite the numbness to emotion he had under the duress of his entire day, his heart had been stabbed by Chloe’s self-admonishment.

Not only was this heartbreaking to witness, but the fact that he wasn’t actually there, and was somehow being shown this vision, made it even worse. He felt dirty, as if he shouldn’t be seeing this memory. It wasn’t his to indulge in, and all it did was confirm that Max was too ashamed to tell him the truth about what had happened to the town. She had known all along, because she felt like it was her fault. Which meant that she too, felt like a burden and a time bomb waiting to go off. He had never been alone to start with in that regard.

“I’m so selfish,” Chloe chastised herself. “Not like my mom. Look what she had to give up and live through. And she did. She deserves so much more than to be killed by a storm in a fucking diner. Even my step… step father, deserves her alive. There’s so many more people in Arcadia Bay who should live… way more than me.” This Chloe was so different than the Chloe Connor had met. This Chloe was so much more sentimental, so much more aware of the ramifications before them. It made him wonder if, Chloe’s abrasiveness about the past was just her way of dealing with it. Again, Connor felt like he wasn’t supposed to be here, and that even his mere thoughts were an abuse of whatever power was at play.

“Don’t say that!” Max cut her off. “I won’t trade you.”

“You’re not trading me. Maybe you’ve just been delaying my real destiny. Look at how many times I’ve almost died or actually died around you. Look at what’s happened in Arcadia Bay ever since you first saved me. I know I’ve been selfish, but for once,” Chloe cried, pulling Max in to look at her again. “I think I should accept my fate. Our fate.”

“Chloe,” Max could barely stand the idea, painfully uttering the punk’s name.

“Max, you finally came back to me this week, and you did nothing but show me your love and friendship. You made me smile and laugh, like I haven’t done in years. Wherever I end up after this… in whatever reality, all those moments between us were real, and they’ll always be ours. No matter what you choose, I know you’ll make the right decision.”

“Chloe!” Max cried now too, waving her arms madly about to emphasize her own point. “I can’t make this choice!”

“No, Max,” Chloe said in a lower, calmer voice, resting her hands on the photographer’s shoulders. “You’re the only one who can.”

After what felt like an eternity of stares, of what Connor considered to be a million memories and emotions between the girls, Chloe said, “Max, it’s time.”

Max stepped away from her, catching Connor by surprise by tearing the photo in half and chucking it into the wind. “Not anymore.” Whatever the photo entailed, he caught that it would have altered the fate of the entire town. Connor understood now that Max had chosen Chloe Price over the lives of hundreds. The person she had just spared her demise, Chloe Price, who had literally begged Max to let her die in order to save the city, seized Max by the hand and joined her at the cliff face.

“Max, I’ll always be with you.”

“Forever,” Max stated, as they both faced the consequence of her decision, observing the massive hurricane touch down on the very shore that Connor and Aubrey had sat along. As the damage intensified and entire buildings were sucked off of the ground into the funnel, Connor could see Max turn away from the carnage and into Chloe’s arms. Even in the surreality of it all, Connor shivered at the realization that Max and Chloe were witnessing every single person they had ever known, talked to, _loved_ , die as a result of this decision. This was what had happened to Arcadia Bay. Max Caulfield had created entropy, and that entropy spiraled out of control.

“You have a second chance.” That voice, the calm, soothing one he had heard projected into his mind during the vision at Blackwell, came out of nowhere. Snapping to the location he had felt it from, the shape of a ghostly apparition stood on all four limbs. It was a doe, one gazing right to him. When he spotted the doe, and moved toward them, they began to trot away into the woods. He was compelled to follow, but before he did so, he gave one last look at the two broken women standing on the cliff face. If he was supposed to feel anger over her decision, then he didn’t want to be right. Her decision, to save the person who he presumed the most important person in her life, was not one to have been taken lightly regardless. This had been something he wouldn’t have been able to choose between. He was also not worthy of passing judgment upon Max or Chloe, considering that he had given in to that ugly desire to unleash his power. The consequence of his own actions, if the serene voice was genuine, might no longer apply. If he was given a redo, then he would have to make the most out of it.

Max Caulfield was _still_ holding all of this in. When she had said she had a terrible power, she had meant this, a butterfly effect that was hardly containable once unleashed. As for Chloe, she was riding on the coattails of a reality tailored solely by Max. Connor was _part_ of a timeline that Max had created. Because of this, he realized with a pitfall in his stomach, that Chloe had to have one of the worst cases of survivor’s guilt in history. Max and Chloe, the two impeccable, dauntless heroines that had come to save them only a day ago, were two of the strongest people he had ever met. If Max had been mortified that he would find out the truth of her actions, and judge her unfairly, then she could never have been more wrong in her life.

Furthermore, it finally made sense as to why he had been brought here. This was a lesson, to be better and to consider every single action he took from here on out with much deliberation. Like Max, he too had a terrible power, except where her power could cause disasters, his power could literally _be_ the disaster. It was still an overwhelming burden to bear, but he had it and that was that. Whoever this voice was that now guided him, he had a feeling they were going to be around for a while. The world around him began to morph into something entirely different. Whatever his next action would be, this action would have consequences.


	18. Rectification

**Chapter 18: Rectification**

 

After the almost out of body experience, the strange hues and shapes, the blurs and fading lines slowly transformed into something familiar to Connor—the junkyard. Before he knew it, the urban explorer was right back to where he had been before they left for Blackwell, leaning against the truck bed right as Max had snapped a Polaroid of herself next to Aubrey. It didn’t take the faux bluenette long for her gaze to wander from the earth up to him. Unlike the last time this scene had unfolded, Aubrey’s inscrutable face quickly transformed into worry, as he realized his shell-shocked countenance was present. Connor was dumbstruck too, but because she was perfectly fine, no missing limbs or bloodied hair. Max was next to match his gaze, having dropped her camera to the ground at Aubrey’s feet. _Pinch me if I’m crazy, but…_ Max and Connor had just time traveled _together_.

“C-Connor!” Aubrey, her voice stammering auspiciously. “Where did all of that blood come from? W-what the fuck is happening?” The brunet, without breaking their intense stare, touched his cheeks to feel the blood that _she_ had wiped across his face. In addition to that, Connor realized that both he and the photographer were soaked and wet, unlike the editor beside her.

“Hey!” called Chloe in an elevated voice, with Hyram approaching as well. “Is everything alright?” _Holy fuck, right! They just wrapped up their vent session, just like the first time!_ This was so different from the first time it happened, though—Max hadn’t dropped her camera, Aubrey hadn’t screamed, and so Chloe and Hyram hadn’t checked in for a few minutes longer. Chloe’s visceral perception was spot on, aiming her concern both at the time traveler and Connor. “Max, what did you guys do? Why the fuck are you all wet?”

Seeing Hyram safe and sound again, with that goofy gait he’d always walked with, was something incredible even if he was just as beside himself as Chloe. _You’re alive! You’re_ _alive._ Connor got out of the truck bed and approached Aubrey slowly, his eyes swelling up with a lifetime of sadness. She was clueless to what he had just experienced, to the things he had been shown. As he grabbed hold of her and gave a silent, tremendous embrace, she initially pressed her hands against his chest in reproach. Connor wouldn’t let go of her, he had to know this was real and she wasn’t in pieces in the corridor of that horrible bunker. Had Hyram been close enough, he might have grabbed hold of the young man as well.

“Connor,” Aubrey said, as he began to sniffle. “Tell us what happened.” He could see from resting his head on her shoulder that Max and Chloe were also in a tender embrace, the shorter brunette reaching up to the lankier violet-haired woman and wrapping her hands around the back of Chloe’s neck. Hyram was standing beside the four of them, looking at Connor with a sympathetic expression.

“We just rewound and everything was so fucked!” Max shouted in anger, muffled by the chest her face was buried in. Chloe, although eagerly giving her girlfriend the attention she required, was puzzled from the outburst.

“The both of you rewound?” asked Chloe, her eyes on Connor with sympathy. Connor could see that Max was too rattled to speak, and it might have to be on him to set the record straight.

“I watched you die. _We_ watched you die,” he slammed his eyes shut, rasping his words. “Everyone. Even the fucking detectives,” he felt the editor suddenly slide her hands around his sides, and up to the bottom of his shoulders. Aubrey pulled him in, settling into a firm, proper hug. He hadn’t realized just how drenched he was until after latching onto her; Aubrey’s clothes were now stained from his own water-logged clothes and the blood on his face. “And the worst part? I was responsible for it.”

“The fuck you were!” Max yelled from Chloe’s hug, pulling herself out of it. “You didn’t kill a single person! You know who’s the one to blame here. Don’t put any of that on you.”

“But I _did_ kill him. I gave in and unleashed the storm,” Connor said, crumpling from Aubrey’s arms to the ground. “I had a moment of weakness, where I just felt… cold, like the rage had left my body and I was projecting it.” He couldn’t bear to look anyone in the eyes, recalling how it was his fault that Aubrey’s arm had been blown off, and how Chloe had burned alive.

“Maybe you guys should start from the beginning?” Hyram slowly said, kneeling behind Connor and placing a supportive hand on him. “When you’re ready, I mean. For now, just remember that you aren’t there anymore. You’ve got friends worried sick about you right here.” He could remember that fine, but he needed a few moments to just sit in wonder, to digest everything without the time-sensitive pressure from their previous mission. Hyram rubbed Connor’s shoulder while Aubrey sat down criss-crossed, resting her chin on his other. Finding a rag in the truck, Chloe tossed it over to Aubrey, who began to help wipe the blood from his face. The punk was also kind enough to switch out Connor’s red jacket with her own, giving him much needed warmth in the cold spring air.

Max wasn’t in any better shape and Chloe seated herself on the edge of her truck bed, with Max resting her head in her lap. Her hoodie had been left to dry behind them in the bed, and unfortunately, they had no replacement for it. Chloe just stuck to warming her up the old fashioned way—huddling. That was all he remembered of the _real_ world while he just sat there, still uncertain that he knew what that word even meant anymore. The whole experience, then the vision afterward and the horrifying tunnel of memories he had gone through to get back to this spot, would have been enough to drive any person insane. For all intents and purposes, Connor was already convinced he _was_ going insane. He and Max had left that reality behind, but the trauma was still very much real. Everybody had gotten captured, and his oldest friend had been murdered after the group had split into teams. Connor had then failed to stop Olhouser and in addition to that, he had sealed everybody’s fate in a fit of passion. Just like Max had done to Arcadia Bay.

Soon after this, Hyram asked him to explain. Getting the courage to open his mouth, Connor told them precisely what had happened, starting at Max’s blackout at the school and ending at the blinding lightning strike. As for the vision, that was something else all together, perhaps even something he was afraid to admit he’d seen. When the question as to how they had both rewound came up, Connor was just as unprepared for that as he would have been discussing the vision.

“You’re asking the wrong person,” Connor said, shrugging to Max. “You’re the expert here, so if you don’t know what happened, I really won’t.”

“I grabbed you right as it happened,” Max’s brows narrowed as she spoke. “My powers hadn’t been working up until then. I’ve never tried during physical contact with someone else. That’s gotta be how it happened.”

“So you’ve never tried rewinding while we’re in bed?” Chloe’s brittle grin greeted a suddenly flustered Max, breaking the tension within their group.

“Not right now, you perv.” Max shook her head, unable to hide the smile that Chloe had infected her with. It did make Connor slightly less uptight, although he wondered if maybe putting Chloe and Hyram together was ultimately a terrible idea. If they could have seen what he had, they wouldn’t have tried to crack jokes even if the intent was to calm him.

These thoughts, of course, did not overshadow the facts at hand—Connor would never be able to forget the images ingrained in his mind, even though the jokester, the editor, and the violet warrior were alive and well in front of him.

“Can I talk to you two alone?” Connor requested, the vision eating away at his guilty conscience. While Chloe looked ready to question why they couldn’t talk about it as a group by this point, Max read his body language well enough to agree to it. In addition, Aubrey and Hyram didn’t take it personally; they seemed to understand that he had just gone through a fucking journey with this short brunette.

Deep in the junkyard, Chloe lit another cigarette while Max held onto the taller woman’s arm, as if for support. Connor was pacing, facing both girls uneasily. “What is it?” Max asked.

“Another vision,” Connor began, gradually searching for courage to tell them the full story. _God, why is this so hard?_ He felt embarrassed, for no reason at all. But as he uttered the next few words, both Max and Chloe became stern-faced. “You two, at a lighthouse.”

He had never seen Chloe’s visage harden so much before. “What did you see?” the punk demanded, nearly stepping forward with her cigarette hand dropping low. Max visibly tugged on the punk’s arm, drawing a quick glance out of Chloe. Max’s nervous maneuvering was an expected reaction. _How the hell do I word this?_

“It was a storm,” he piped up, after a moment of Chloe’s hopefully unintended death glare. “ _The Storm_ , and you two think it’s all your fault. I didn’t want to bring this up in front of them, unless you guys were okay with it.”

“I caused it,” Max said as Chloe stared down to her. “I can’t undo that, Connor. I’ll never be able to let that go—”

“Well, _I_ certainly can, and have,” Chloe interrupted, aggravated over Max’s statement. _I didn’t mean to start shit between them. Did I just fuck this up?_

“Chloe!” Max shouted, letting go of her. “No you can’t! You never have!”

“Well, I’ve been _trying_. It’s not like you’ll talk to me about it.” Chloe spat, the space between the two girls becoming wider with each passing second. On Max’s face, hurt was starting to show, while the vitriol in Chloe spilled out. If she squeezed the cigarette between her fingers any tighter it was liable to become squashed. “Three years, Max! In three years, did you ever fucking talk about Arcadia with the old me? Because it’s been about two years since and I’ve had to pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Of course I did, Chloe. I have five years of memories jumbled together in my head, this is all confusing. This is why I came back!” Max fought back, her fists balled and shaking now. From the looks of this, Max and Chloe rarely fought, which made the scene all the more uncomfortable for him to witness. It was crazy to think Max hadn’t spoken about any of this with her partner for such a long time, but she was under a lot of stress and Connor had no right to judge her for that. He wished that he could rewind to stop this fight. Perhaps there had been a different way to approach this talk and he was just an idiot. _Yeah, I’m a pretty big idiot, aren’t I?_ Sadly, he wasn’t quick enough on his tongue to intervene. “I’m really, really sorry it’s taken so long. I promise you, as soon as this is all over, we’ll talk about everything.”

To this, Chloe took a deep breath, dropped her cigarette to the ground and smothered it with her boot. “Sorry you’re seeing this,” she said to Connor, who awkwardly nodded. It sounded like Connor wouldn’t need to worry about stopping it. “Max, sorry. I didn’t mean to blow up on you. It’s been a bad hour.” The urban explorer recalled what had gone on at the junkyard before the time skip, and upon the memory of Chloe finding the dumpsite of Rachel Amber, the day felt once again like one bad dream. Clarity didn’t make the scene any easier to watch, but he remembered then that Chloe was still recovering from opening old wounds. “You saw _The_ Storm.” Chloe declared. “I was so convinced I was going to die.”

“It felt way more real than a vision. I was… there, but you couldn’t see me. I could _feel_ everything. And, I’m sorry, I really couldn’t help, but I heard the whole conversation. You guys aren’t murderers,” he raised a hand to his chest, feeling the heat of the moment rising. Chloe, rather than look to Connor as he spoke, instead aimed her gaze down at her girlfriend. Chloe might have thought the same thing Connor was thinking, that someone else who could understand the responsibility and failure to recognize such in these powers could ease Max’s feelings. “I’m pretty sure that without your intervention at the barn, everyone would have died. So, I’m also saying… I’ll never be able to fully understand what you feel, but I’m trying. I’m probably the closest to it you’ll find. In that moment, the only thing on my mind? What was right in front of me.”

“Even though it was in another reality,” Max quietly leaked, her eyes on the ground. “You could think of a thousand ways it could have happened differently, a million different variables, and you still chose that one. Even if it was the most important decision of your life, you still hate that you had to do it. You feel weak, you feel unworthy, you feel like you’re the worst person on the planet.” Chloe held out her right hand to Max, and the photographer took it willingly. “That’s how I feel.”

“True that. I am ashamed of myself, too,” Connor told her, rubbing the back of his head while meeting Chloe’s eyes. Behind the blue, there was a soul thanking him for his kind words to her girlfriend. “But you gave me the luxury to feel ashamed. I won’t ruin that chance.”

“Besides,” Chloe rubbed her cheek against the top of Max’s wet hair. “You still have me. That ain’t changing.” While he thought that the warmth that Chloe emanated would surely dry Max off, the photographer backed away unexpectedly.

“No. It’s not true at all,” Max said, her voice unsteady. “I _am_ a murderer. Everybody’s gone because I refused to let you die. That fucking butterfly picture is gone forever. Even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t change it for the world. That’s something we both have to live with.” Max heaved the weight of her actions off of her shoulders with one fell swoop. Chloe winced, frowning with her eyes scrunched shut. She didn’t want to hear this anymore than Max wanted to say it. “And you three,” she said to Connor. “What just happened in the other reality was nearly the same as the original.”

“Where we died because I fucked up with my powers,” Connor said in response. “I figured that out. Whatever you want to do, just know I’m not going to hate you.”

“Even though I lied and manipulated you three to get this far?” Max looked like she didn’t think she deserved nor expected his forgiveness. Connor had suspected she might be stringing them along, and Hyram had voiced his concerns early on that they weren’t being honest with them. It was sad to hear that these suspicions turned out to be true, in a sense. Connor wouldn’t mind so long as she stopped keeping them out of the loop from here on out.

“You haven’t exactly been an open book for a while,” Chloe, eyes still shut and arms folded, stated to Max. “So, how about this: Get Hyram and Aubrey into this, work everything out, and then figure out what to do next.”

“You can absolutely live with it,” Connor said, with Chloe’s eyes coming alive to regard him with pity. He had no idea why she would be pitying him, until he realized she knew whatever he was about to say would have no affect on Max. She was going to suffer in her own guilt, no matter how much she tried to rationalize it. It couldn’t be any better than how the two girls had played it off to start with, acting like it never happened, not talking at all. “But it doesn’t need to define who Max Caulfield is, or who Chloe Price is.”

“Shot in the gut,” Max started, trembling. “Shot in the chest. Run over by a train. Morphine overdose. Bullet to the head,” the brunette’s speech grew more unhinged as she spoke, earning the attention of a very concerned Chloe, who tried to reach down and touch her hand. Max pulled away, and then looked up at her, with fresh tear trails going down her grimy face. “That’s how many times I watched _you_ die or almost die. Want to know how many times I watched David die in the Dark Room? What about Victoria, trapped with me? Fuck, I have so many displaced memories of death! I don’t even know what happened to her! What about Evan, Alyssa, everyone in the fucking diner who burned to a crisp because I wasn’t there? What about fucking Frank, when I told him his own supply killed Rachel? And now, we lose again, at the Dark Room of all fucking places?”

“Max, what?” Chloe’s face conveyed a ghastly feeling, like she had never heard any of this before. “What happened to the diner?”

“It blew up because I wasn’t there to stop an oil spill in the middle of the storm! I’m a horrible fucking _monster_. Every time I open my eyes, I’m reminded of the choices I’ve made. That’s what you could become, Connor. You killed Olhouser once, you’ll never forget that, or Aubrey blown to bits, or Chloe’s,” she began to groan but it collapsed into a whimper. _Holy shit, Max._ “Every single time you think you’re going to fix something, you break it in a million different ways. I killed an entire town because I wasn’t paying attention to the signs around me. What you did, could have potentially ended the world. I came back in time to stop that from happening, and it happened anyway! Who am I to try when I can’t do _anything_ right?”

“A good samaritan? Hello!” At some point Aubrey had joined them, just as uncomfortable with this spat as he had grown. Beside her, Chloe had backed away and pressed herself against an old washing machine, face buried in her hands. The time traveler, as if trying to reach out and apologize to Chloe, dropped her hands to her sides. Connor tensed up, praying that Aubrey hadn’t heard the part where Max had described her death. Aubrey, one hand digging into her other arm as she characteristically did when stressed, threw the other up in an enthusiastic gesture. “What’s the point of beating yourself up if you did everything you could?”

“A good samaritan doesn’t wipe out an entire town.” Aubrey shut up fast once she realized what Max had said. It had not been Sean Prescott or even an act of God—no, Max Caulfield, defying fate to save Chloe, had unleashed the massive storm. “They wouldn’t do the things I do. Because it’s not enough,” Max told her sharply. “Why bother doing anything at all if I make more problems than before?” Aubrey didn’t respond, shut down by Max’s colossal suggestion that, once again, she was the reason for Arcadia Bay’s demise. Despite knowing both girls from a much earlier age, poor Aubrey still didn’t know what to say to Max to make her feel better.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the diner Max?” Chloe’s quivering lip was contrasted by the fire in her eyes. “Why?”

“Chloe,” Max said, barely audible. “I keep forgetting where I am in time. We absolutely did have this conversation. I keep feeling like I’m splitting here. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“We aren’t supposed to have secrets,” Chloe said quickly. “But it’s fine, right? Everybody lies. No exceptions. I just thought you would be better than everyone else.”

“Please don’t say that. It was a lie of omission, because I was afraid to tell you. I fucked up and you deserve so much better than that!” The brunette’s voice breaking halfway through the sentence. “I’ve been so caught up in trying to save everyone… that… that…”

“Save it, Max. You know who else made excuses? Who just disappeared one day? Rachel was too fucking afraid to tell me the truth too, and it got her killed!” Aubrey, feeling threatened by the shouting match, put distance between her and Chloe. This was beyond uncomfortable to sit through. Connor wished he hadn’t even brought this up. Anguish washed across Max, and it didn’t look as if Chloe’s temper would go away. Connor had to do something, anything, to fix this.

“Chloe, I would explain everything right now if there was time. I’ve been such a selfish person to you and the only way I can make up for this is after we’re done here,” Max said, her eyes now pleading with the furious violet-haired punk. “We _are_ going to talk. As soon as possible, I promise.”

“You’ve had two weeks, Max,” Chloe huffed, her left hand now on her chest. “Two weeks to talk about it. I’m really fucking betrayed right now. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it at the lighthouse, _as soon as we’re done here._ ”

“I promise,” Max said, wiping tears off of her face.

“You’re just one person, Max,” Connor said, feeling it necessary to remind her that despite the fact that she had messed up on her trust with Chloe, she was still trying to do good in the world. “You can do better, but that doesn’t mean you need to be a superhero. Look at everything you’ve accomplished so far on this trip.”

“Connor, shut up.” Chloe warned him. Connor had never seen the woman become imposing, but in that moment, he thought she was capable of knocking him on his ass. It was probably better if he minded his own business, no matter the fact that they had three audience members. Within an instant, Chloe picked up the conversation from his exact point. “I’ve been saying the same, Max,” Chloe spoke up loudly, refusing to match eyes with anybody. “You act like this is all your punishment, like nobody else is going to understand. It’s fucked up that you can’t just keep me in the loop like that. You aren’t Atlas, the world isn’t yours to hold up, alright? Instead of thinking six steps ahead every god damn time something happens, just sit down and talk with me.” Max looked up at all three, teary-eyed and looking ready to fall down. Connor saw Hyram finally show up, looking slightly uncomfortable from walking into such a heavy scene. The shouting match must have attracted him, knowing that Aubrey had left him alone by the truck. He did, however, look like he had something to add to this.

“I think you’re all forgetting one more thing,” he said, raising his index finger up intuitively. Chloe placed her right hand to her head, as if expecting some failure of a mood-breaking joke. Hyram went on to surprise them. “You’re no longer doing any of this alone. You got the three of us, and you have Chloe. All you need to do is talk to us, let us work with you.”

“Oh good,” Chloe remarked. “I was ready to punch that smug grin off your face.”

Connor wanted to give Hyram an enormous high five, because that was something he had been trying to explain but had been unable to say a thing. Max had done all of this, keeping it to herself. Not even to her girlfriend, who very much loved her. That had to end today. “Not only that, but you have a sidekick who can shoot lightning.”

“Uhh, no.” Chloe rejected him, wrapping her arms around the shorter woman who was crying with a smile—not from the weight of her existence or the things she’s done, but from the support she was receiving. It was a vast improvement over just a minute before. “Don’t care how pissed off I am. She’s already got a sidekick. Thanks.”

“We’ll just make this an extended universe,” Hyram said, bringing a charismatic fist up into the air. “I can be Mr. Fury. Just give me like four more decades.” _Who gets to pluck out one eye?_

The group continued to cheer Max up until she was able to function properly again. In addition to this, they also made sure to sooth Chloe’s gloomy nerves. Both of these girls needed a proper vacation, but as they made up with one another, Connor felt massive relief. The urban explorer wasn’t convinced Max had believed every word they had said, but she had believed enough to fight another day. Hearing his own thoughts made real in the conversation also helped Connor massively. They were insecurities he was projecting in addition to things Max needed to hear. After that, they explained the dual-time travel fiasco and everything in between in more detail. Together, they sat down and decided on first course of action for _Mission 2.0_. Of course, this was when the dissent began as Hyram objected from the truck bed.

“You can’t be serious,” Hyram said. “Barry, civil?” Connor had to agree with Hyram on this one. Max thought they could ambush the detective and somehow, using her powers, convince her to aid them. She did say she rewound something like six times around the woman at the cafe and had a pleasant conversation, but she hadn’t had a gun pulled on her at the Prescott Estate.

“Her name’s actually Leanne Southgate,” Max said. “You’re the one who told me that.”

“I did?” Aubrey asked, then let out a soft laugh when she realized what the photographer meant. “So, you want us to go to the laundromat, get the jump on the woman who shot Hyram in the other reality, and _hope_ that she helps us bust Olhouser?”

“She’s just trying to rescue Mr. Wright,” Max clarified. “I’ve talked to her, remember? She’s got something going on, but she isn’t psychotic. Besides, you two learned a little bit about her. I can use that.”

“Or, she just figures out you’ve got powers like Connor and tries to kidnap you,” Chloe added her two cents. “Which in that case, means someone’s ass is getting run over.” Even if Mr. Wright had denied it, Chloe was right. This could be one form of imprisonment traded for another and as of right now, they didn’t know about Max or Chloe. That was an advantage, as far as Connor was concerned.

“I’m suggesting that I try to talk to her about it,” Max said, frustrated at the group’s resistance to the idea. “I can redo if it messes up.”

“Ehh, there isn’t much to talk about when someone’s waving a gun in your face?” Hyram sneered. “But that’s just my take on it.”

“What happens if your powers shit the bed again?” Connor asked Max, watching Max’s dauntless face. He realized she wasn’t changing her mind no matter what they said. “If you’re in the middle of talking her down, that’s scary.”

“They won’t,” Max said, looking around the circle. “I have you if I need a boost.” _If that’s how it works, I guess._ “We can save almost everyone. If Southgate joins us and we can get to Mr. Wright before he dies…”

“Mr. Wright _was_ a little more reasonable but uhh… we still have to work with Southgate to get to him,” Hyram said, his hands on the back of his head. “I recall him saying we were free to go after a few questions, if you believe him.”

“Which we don’t, right?” Aubrey added, receiving an agreeable nod from Chloe. If Connor remembered correctly, Aubrey had expressed that she was more afraid of Mr. Wright than she was Southgate. While they continued arguing over the reasonableness of the plan, and whether they needed her at all to pull this task off, Max snapped a photo of herself with the Polaroid camera. It drew the narrator from the conversation to the sight of Max completely engrossed in the image.

“We _have_ to placate Southgate or else things go seriously bad,” Max said firmly, snapping back to reality. As the group realized what she was holding, the consensus was that she had just hopped backwards again. At least it was a healthy reminder that her powers were functioning as intended.

“How bad?” Chloe asked, leaning in on the edge of the truck bed.

“Because she told me the truth about the Yatagarasu,” Max said heavily. “We need the detectives alive in case this thing ever becomes a problem again.” She made it sound as if they had failed yet again, and that both Wright and Southgate had perished as a result of it. Connor loathed not knowing everything that had gone down from her point of view, but he could imagine how traumatic it was a second time around even without experiencing it.

“This thing that could be a problem, being the Yatagarasu,” Connor clarified, still oblivious to the significance of the word. He could tell that the rest of the team was just as clueless as he was, although Max had something brewing in her head about it.

“What’s a Yatagarasu? Sounds kickass, whatever it is,” Chloe mused, rubbing her chin beside Max.

“The code name for whoever is working with Olhouser and the Oracle. Southgate believes they’re highly dangerous and responsible for the death of her family,” Max said in quick word vomit, as if reciting information she was afraid of losing. The group stared disbelievingly at her, before Max blinked a few times. _Okay. That’s fuck-ton of info that needs to be dumped._

“You sure we aren’t superheroes? Cause that sounds like the name of a supervillain,” Hyram said sarcastically. “They murdered her family? How the hell did you get all of that out of her?” _That_ certainly put Leanne Southgate into a new light for Connor. _That_ certainly justified her aggro tendencies.

“Yeah, I thought she was investigating the strange weather patterns caused by—” Connor gave Aubrey a light jab to remind her to be mindful when speaking about Max’s fallout. “Anyway, what gives on that?”

“She’s not after us, neither is Mr. Wright. They’re after this Yatagarasu and Oracle,” Max said, stifling her words. Her eyes were now on Connor, and solely Connor. He didn’t enjoy being singled out, but he held out his hands to gesture for her to keep going. “I think this person has gifts, like you and me. Southgate seems to think so, and it scares the shit out of her. If someone else with powers is involved, then we have to be twice as careful.” Connor knew, of course, how Olhouser had spoken about the Yatagarasu. The others did not, and he decided to clarify on Max’s behalf how Olhouser had made it seem like this unknown person had been controlling the old man’s actions. Max hadn’t been able to get everything out of Southgate, as she revealed it wasn’t exactly under good circumstances she had learned of these details. Max’s reasoning was much more solid after the facts came to light, but still risky considering the unpredictable nature of the detective.

“First Blackwell, then the laundromat, posthaste. Before Southgate gets here.” Max jumped to her feet, sliding the camera into her bag and running towards the passenger of Chloe’s truck. She had brushed past her girlfriend rather fast, surprising even the punk with the sudden spontaneity of the action. “Whatever happens, please don’t shoot her. I got this.”

“Okay, SuperMax,” Chloe said, running around the back of the truck to the driver’s door. Aubrey and Hyram promptly hopped into the bed and Connor, seeing that there was no talking Max out of this plan, climbed up over the corner. The time traveler was back in action, and her mention of Blackwell made him eerily recount the fire and smoke that had raged after the generators had exploded. They were going to grab Hyram’s respirators to deal with that, just in case.

As the truck’s engine came to life, the violet-haired girl in the front seat dawned her skullcap once more. Or, in this case, she had never taken it off since Connor had jumped back in time. If only those three knew just how horrible the ordeal had been.“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Hyram said, burying his face into a palm. “Just on record, I was against appeasing the fascist.”

“Suddenly know what that word means?” Connor asked him, earning a staunch, sarcastic laugh from Chloe in the front seat. Hyram eyed him between the fingers on his face, grumbling something under his breath.

“Trust Max,” Aubrey said to him, resting her arm along the truck bed frame. “She’s the one who’s been saving us all week.”

“Yeah, don’t count the guy with lightning or the handsome man at your side,” Hyram joked, while the driver grunted at his assertion. “Shut up, you damn pirate.”

“Cap’n Bluebeard to you, scurvy dog,” Chloe replied in an impassioned accent. She had recovered considerably from the near-shouting match only minutes earlier. “I mean, Purplebeard!” Hyram and Aubrey both perked up, gave each other a funny look and then turned to address the fact that Chloe had just talked as if she were a scurvy dog herself.

“Where the hell has that been this whole time?” Aubrey asked, and even from the cabin window, Connor could see Chloe’s lips turning into a wide smirk.

“On the seven seas, where I cracked Jenny’s teacup!”You didn’t need to be a pirate to know what that meant. _Oh sweet Christ Chloe, stop it. We already have one bad dog._ Watching them this way, alive and happy, allowed him a moment to rest both his eyes and his heart. The haunting image of his friends from the other timeline would take time to dispel, but seeing them lively and energetic sure helped. As they kept up the banter, though, he noticed Max was quietly formulating the move after they recruit Detective Bizarro. She had saved him in so many ways and he had to make sure she understood that before the day was over.

Connor thought, though simultaneously and rather accidentally admitted aloud, “I’m so glad I have you guys.” By the time he realized he had said it rather than thought it, Aubrey and Hyram were focused on him rather than the pirate in the front seat. The editor’s classic, tiny grin and cameraman’s goofy huge smile greeted him in return. “I’m sorry guys. You have no idea how long of a day it’s been.”

“Don’t sweat it. You’ve got a lifetime to put up with us,” Hyram shot back, ending the moment on a nice note for Connor.

The rest of the truck ride which was relatively short, and consisted of a quick swing by the Blackwell campus to retrieve Hyram’s duffle bag and a brief examination of the area around their campfire. The same footprints were there as Max and Connor had seen in the last timeline, but the lack of rain that day had given them a much clearer picture of the fight. From the way the prints were positioned, Olhouser had dragged Mr. Wright off somewhere. Max surmised, and correctly so, in Connor’s opinion, that he was probably held captive or being tortured in the Dark Room. There was also the business of telling Chloe that they had to go back to the Dark Room, something Connor left to Max. Chloe took it as well as a cow did a branding iron; immense push-back, acting as if the very idea stung like a hot rod. As that ended, they jumped back in the truck and were headed to the laundromat when Max waved Chloe to pull off of the main road. Chloe obliged, but then turned to hear why Max had changed their course last minute.

That had been fifteen minutes ago or so, when Max had hopped out and went ahead of them early. Now, as Connor sat tense and unsure what to do with himself in Chloe’s truck bed, they waited for a transmission to come through from Max. The time traveler had requested for Chloe to leave the truck around the corner and to wait for her signal before approaching. Naturally, Hyram was still extremely skeptical, as was Connor, but the two girls appeared empathetic to Max’s idea. Connor _thought_ he was too, but the other two gave him some second thoughts about that, with the way they told him he should know to trust in her abilities by now. The truth was that he was still getting used to them working again, but that was on him and not her. Since Max had disappeared around the corner of the four-way, nobody had really said a thing.

Chloe kept her right hand on the stick shift and the other clutching the left side of the steering wheel, not even once having touched the truck radio. Hyram was also on edge, peering over the top of the cabin for any sign of trouble. Funnily enough, Aubrey seemed to be the calmest out of all four of them. It did give time for Connor to really give each one of these people a look without really thinking hard on it. He thought that the blue hair complemented the editor’s pale skin and general style of t-shirts and torn jeans. To her left, Hyram was still wearing the red long-sleeve shirt Chloe had provided. He had ditched the beanie and allowed his dreads to hang freely on his head as he usually did. Connor had often wondered why Hyram didn’t try for an afro or some sort of faux-hawk, because the boy could totally pull that off with some well-kept facial hair. All of these were welcome thoughts in place of revisiting a slumped corpse against the laundromat wall, or a girl reaching for a missing arm.

“Slowly approach,” a transmission came through, Max’s first word cut in half by how quickly she had chimed in. Chloe perked up and turned the key in ignition, as the truck began to mosey down the street toward the corner. Connor decided to do what Hyram had done and propped himself against the top of the truck cabin, and as they rounded the corner he saw that once-intimidating parking lot of the laundromat, with a black sedan tucked just behind the back of the building. Max was in the middle of the lot facing down the short blonde-haired woman whose back was to them, her gun already out but not quite pointed at Max or even the incoming truck. If Max had been working her magic, then Connor guessed it had been a success. Everyone in the truck was standoffish, however, and he could see the way Chloe’s hands twitched as if she was getting ready to run Southgate over. Connor had reflected on the past few days and realized, Southgate wasn’t as insane as they remembered, but he and Max readily remembered that she had killed Hyram and dumped his body. This plan wasn’t going to sit well with him, regardless of what happened.

They were close enough to pick out the conversation, now, as Chloe came to a halt a decent distance behind the detective. Max’s eyes occasionally left the threatening woman and rested on the truck, the entire group holding their breath to see where this was about to go. Connor couldn’t lie, either; he was on the edge of his seat, with someone who he still considered to be an antagonist right in front of them.

Max was dead in the middle of making her case, it sounded like. Leanne’s head thrashed left and right, as her trigger arm rose as she looked behind her toward the truck. “We can’t negotiate.”

“Please, Leanne. Consider what I’m saying here,” Max pleaded with her, the detective’s face snapping back to Max.

“How do you know my real name?” demanded Southgate, the spitfire she was.

“The Yatagarasu’s the one behind this all,” Max said. “They’re trying to hurt me and my friends through Olhouser. I know that you and Detective Wright are after them.” Max said, her voice now confident rather than shaky. Although Connor couldn’t see the detective’s reaction to this, the woman was standing tight, with her arms tucked close to her body. Interestingly, this was the first time he hadn’t seen Southgate pointing her gun madly about.

“I have no reason to trust you,” Southgate said, turning so she could see both Max and the truck. “For all I know, you’re working with the Yatagarasu.”

“If we wanted to hurt you in any way, we could have done it long before you saw me,” Max said, pointing to the truck. As Southgate’s gaze followed, Chloe smiled as she waved her handgun in the air with her middle finger extended. “Without your help, we can’t save Mr. Wright or stop Olhouser. After the things he’s said, there’s no telling what lengths he could go to find us again.”

“After the way I’ve treated your friends, color me impressed that you’re reaching out. Suppose I did trust you,” Southgate said, “what does this alliance entail?” _Are you for real right now?_ Connor’s jaw dropped, in utter disbelief that Southgate was remorseful.

“We get to his hideout, help you rescue Mr. Wright and stop him. Let us get our belongings back, and then we go our separate ways. I know you aren’t crazy under the surface,” to this, Southgate’s eyes narrowed at Max’s not-so-subtle phrasing.

“What if you don’t like my terms? What then?” she asked.

“If you could stop being so hostile for a moment, you’d realize we’re just a bunch of scared people who want to live and let live,” Max told her, although if Southgate truly was scared of them, this might not be so in her own mind. “We mean no harm to you. Help us, and let us help you.”

The detective was considering it, her gun only inches away from being holstered. She looked them over suspiciously, raising her head and taking a deep breath. The gun slid out of her hands and into the holster as she mumbled quietly to herself. “Condition: You answer my questions when this is all over. I want to know everything you have on the Yatagarasu.”

“Condition granted as long as Mr. Wright’s in the room with us and you remain calm,” Max said, offering a smile intended to at least show her intentions were pure. She approached Southgate timidly, until the woman briskly stuck out her hand. Max took it and flinched at the apparent squeeze that Southgate gave to her. The woman staring down at her made a sound reminiscent of laughter, and let go of Max’s hand.

“I can’t believe we just pulled this off. Max is nuts to even bother with this woman,” Hyram said, slowly blowing air out of his mouth as he turned to face his two friends.

“Max is a genius, you mean,” Aubrey said. “Why isn’t she a hostage negotiator?”

“Give me a few minutes to gather my thoughts and check the car,” Southgate informed Max. “We can ascertain what approach to tackle this from after.”

“I know the layout of the place by heart,” Max said, and then gestured towards Connor and Chloe. “They’ve seen it before too.” Southgate’s eyes landed on him, and he saw something behind her lips that came off as frustration. Slowly, her face morphed into a puzzling, menacing smile, the whites of her teeth the foreground of it. She raised a hand up to Connor, wiggling her fingers at him and making a zappy sound. _Oh my fucking god. I said I would use my powers on her like a buffoon_ , he realized, as the woman kept mocking him for his comments at the Prescott Estate. Furthermore, it was reinforcement to that idea that she was well aware who they were: people with unnatural powers.

“Splendid,” Southgate replied to Max.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone's a little confused about Southgate's sudden batch of humanity (AKA older readers) as part of my cleanup of previous chapters I tweaked her personality and actions to make this character shift not so sudden or unexpected.


	19. Zeus and Typhoeus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max and Connor put a stop to this madness.

**Chapter 19: Zeus and Typhoeus**

 

 _So. Th_ _is is really happening._ Chloe couldn’t hold back a scoff, staring into the rear-view mirror as she drove the truck through Arcadia Bay’s back roads. _We’re helping a secret agent take down Redneck Survivorman at the Prescott Barn, of all places._ Detective Leanne Southgate, formerly a troubling adversary to her friends, sat in the bed of her truck. Aside from select angsty teenage memories, this was the single most awkward thing she had ever seen, with the blonde-haired Southgate ignoring the bewildered people beside her. In another life, this woman had apparently killed Hyram then kidnapped Aubrey and Chloe. She didn’t give off the impression that she would do that, at least on the surface, but Chloe knew that Southgate was still capable of it. Chloe’s trigger finger would remain extremely itchy until this was over.

Chloe’s eyes gradually went to the girl in her passenger seat, with her messy, dried hair and wrinkled clothes. In Max’s hands, she clutched the Polaroid camera tightly. It had originally belonged to Chloe’s father, but found itself right at home with the photographer after she had saved Chloe’s life. No matter how upset Chloe was with the woman full of secrets next to her, Max was still her guardian angel. That didn’t mitigate the damage done by the earlier fight, though. Chloe was very angry with Max, even if the punk herself felt it was somehow unfair to feel this way. Chloe wanted to reach across the cabin and stroke Max’s cheek, but also wanted to get her point across that what Max had been doing—the secrets, the lies, the unintended manipulation—was not okay in the slightest. At the same time, Max had not been herself for two weeks, and Chloe wouldn’t be able to get into that head of hers until Max fucking _talked_ to her about it. Chloe was conflicted on this being the topic of thought for the drive, but she tried airing her conscience out anyway.

“I know my rage was pretty severe this time around,” Chloe said, matter-of-factly. Anger management had always been her biggest flaw, and while it had improved tremendously since the death of her father, she had found herself raging more often after they had left Arcadia Bay.

“It was well deserved,” Max answered, turning towards Chloe. She hadn’t once been dishonest about anything since the fight happened, which was a good sign. As the driver’s curiosity grew, Max spoke through the cabin window to their allies in the truck bed. Chloe, having expected more conversation directed to her and not the passengers, felt slighted.

“How long has Mr. Wright been missing?” Max asked Detective Southgate, whose face homed in on the photographer. Since they were driving, everybody had to practically shout in order to make their points known. Chloe watched her reaction through the rear-view mirror, still far from willing to trust the woman.

“He ceased communication early this morning,” the blonde-haired detective said. “Knowing this, I had a taxi drop me off on the edge of town. He had parked the car exactly where he said he would, but with no sign of him and with what you’ve told me about those footprints at the school, I’m glad I decided to come.” She tilted her head, analyzing Max. “How do you know everything that you do?”

“Exactly the reason you think. I’m an Artemis,” Max said bluntly, and Chloe saw the detective’s pupils dilate upon mention of that word. Max hadn’t used it before, just another thing she had probably picked up from a rewind and hadn’t told anyone about. _Damn it, Max._ That would change as soon as this was all over—and Chloe could feel in her bones that they were so close to wrapping this up and getting definitive answers about Connor’s visions and Max’s warning of the future.

“Ah,” Southgate said, as if it pained her to acknowledge the fact. “So I’m not crazy.”

“We didn’t say that,” Hyram corrected her, coughing as he spoke. Detective Southgate seemingly hovered over Hyram in a manner Chloe recognized as intimidation. The punk wanted to fist bump him, if he was a little bit closer to the window and wasn’t suddenly hiding behind Connor and an equally-timid Aubrey. _Oh, this is a renaissance portrait. Max better snap a photo for posterity._ “Hey, if we’re being honest… you kind of jumped the gun at the Prescott Estate.”

“I jumped the gun, assuming a boy who could slice a door in half as if it’d been hit with a military-grade laser could kill me?” Southgate shot Connor a look, and he responded in kind albeit slightly more guilty. “You were interfering in our investigation.”

“You would have died either way without our help!” Max shouted though the cabin window, shutting the woman down. “Right now, I think we have enough time to save Mr. Wright before Olhouser goes off the deep end. Can we please get along until we’re done?”

Southgate, regardless of her motivations, nodded in concession. “I’ll stay my questions for now. I have plenty but, why are you studying me?”

“We aren’t studying you,” Max replied, when Southgate shook her head and pointed to Connor.

“If anyone should be studied, it’s you,” she said to the boy who had stared at her for an inappropriate period of time. _Connor’s had it shitty too, hasn’t he? Poor guy deserves some time to space._ He immediately retracted, muttering something unheard. Chloe rolled her eyes and thought that the detective should deal with it after the hell she had been giving those three. They had to share personal space with her, and that was no walk in the park. “No, _I’m_ sorry.”

“Um, what?” Chloe questioned quietly to herself, nearly laughing in the driver’s seat. She returned to the dirt road as it narrowed, leaving the others to talk among themselves. She occasionally stole a peek in the mirror, though.

“I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you three,” Leanne Southgate—the scary detective who had mercilessly shot a gun at them—apologized, albeit slowly as if it took a lot for her to say it.

“What?” Hyram rubbernecked immediately, in total awe _._ “Can I get that in writing?” he began shuffling through his duffle bag much to Chloe’s delight. While Hyram kept going, Leanne was fairly nonplussed. Apparently, it _had_ required quite a bit of humility to admit blame. Connor and Aubrey were taken by surprise as much as Hyram though they weren’t nearly as comfortable speaking about it.

“Shut the fuck up, kid. You always talk so much?” Southgate asked him. _Bwoah shit!_ Even if Chloe wasn’t choosing sides here, her smile grew wider with each passing moment Leanne and Hyram dumped on each other. In the corner, it appeared that Aubrey was trying to pretend the conflict didn’t exist as she played with her phone. Since they were in cahoots with the detectives, there really was no reason to keep their phones turned off. Chloe was also extremely curious to see if her ex-boyfriend had sent anything worth reading after last night’s scathing reply.

“Why were you so aggressive with us? I think we’ve earned an answer.” Chloe hadn’t expected Connor to voice any opinion whatsoever right now, with how he had been generally spaced out for a few minutes but what he said was something she thought Max had somewhat explained already. However, hearing it from the horse’s mouth would be interesting. Southgate looked unsure whether to tell them anything, but then she stared directly toward the cabin with an addled face.

“Somebody with unnatural abilities much like your own killed people I love. The truth is that you people bother me to my core and I can’t get over it. Where this person goes, things that defy science such as the Arcadia Bay hurricane occur. Wherever they appear, I will appear, until I have them in my clutches. Understand now why I targeted you with extreme prejudice?” _What do you mean, ‘you people?’_

“You still didn’t have to be a psycho gun-toting MIB,” Hyram remarked. “We were in the wrong place at the wrong time and you made it considerably worse.”

“Look, I—Oh, whatever. I already apologized. I’m not going to justify myself. If I lose Mr. Wright too, there will be nothing left for me in life. This job will be meaningless. So forgive my attitude. Besides, your buddy there threatened to blow me up, so we’re even.” Connor laughed in a nervous manner, aiming his gaze away from the detective. Chloe returned to stare down a familiar dirt road, deciding that they could trust the woman until they saved Mr. Wright. After that, she could fuck off to whatever rabbit hole she came from.

“Hey Candy Ass,” Chloe called out, watching Aubrey look up from her cell phone. She wanted to change the topic to something less serious. After all, they were about to storm the enemy base and had Southgate in the truck bed. “Did Colonel Flustercuck say anything shitty to you?” Aubrey began chuckling, as they were shared the inside joke. _Well, not that personal. Hyram was in on it._ The detective wore a grin despite being left out of the moment.

“He was a little bitch. What else is new?”

The Harry Aaron Prescott Barn had been rundown the first time she had seen it while on Nathan Prescott’s tail, but now it was even worse. Where telephone poles that led to the barn once stood, the remnants of the barn and farm equipment sat in the shade of a lonesome wall and a makeshift canopy. The ugly red farmhouse with boarded up windows and half a roof had survived two years of neglect in the wasteland, too. Of course, this was what Chloe could see from the forest. The property was, aside from the farmhouse and overgrown hills, as barren as it had always been.

Chloe folded her arms and turned to Southgate, who sat on the wall of her bed. Special Agent Batshit was briefing them on the final operation, giving Chloe even more of a reason to smirk. She needed to take this seriously, but how could she with this woman playing drill sergeant? “We’re going to flank from both sides of the property,” Southgate ordered, pointing toward the farmhouse and the Dark Room entrance. “Your stolen car is here so there’s no reason to assume Hugh Olhouser isn’t.”

“How are the teams gonna work?” Connor inquired, his own arms folded. He must have been pretty skeptical that they were taking orders from the detective too.

“You two need to stay here and give us reconnaissance,” Southgate said to the bluenette and the dreadlocked boy. “You’ve got a radio, and you’ve got a perfect field of view. Radio support is going to be essential to this.” Southgate had her own handy radio, which brought the total to three. Just enough to pull off two teams and an observer pair, like she was talking about. The military jargon was, surprisingly, refreshing considering the last time she’d heard anyone bark this much had been her paranoid stepfather. But even Chloe knew after years of having coexisted with the man that Leanne Southgate would’ve decked him if he had been around.

“I can do that,” Aubrey promised, pulling the radio off of her waist and adjusting the nobs. Hyram watched her for a moment before raising his eyes up to the group.

“We’re unarmed, and I don’t want to be a sitting duck.” This was fair, but easily remedied. As Chloe dropped to one knee and removed the knife hiding in her boot, Connor tossed DJ Doom’s overcompensating blade to Hyram. He eyed the knife like a new toy, while Chloe raised hers up to Aubrey, handle pointing out. The bluenette took it and quickly slid it into one of her pockets. They didn’t have a gun, but using the cover of the forest, they could keep out of sight.

“As for the pairs of two,” Detective Southgate briefly glanced over Max, Chloe, and Connor. Chloe looked towards Max, expecting to be with her on this one. “You and Mr. Papworth will be the barn pair, and she and I will be the farmhouse pair.” _Come again?_

“Bullshit,” Chloe remarked, earning a narrowed brow from the detective. “Why? I should be going with h-her.” She was careful not to use Max’s true name around Southgate, but if this was the big showdown, she didn’t want Max to be with someone who was frankly the enemy of their enemy. Max had enough problems on her own.

“Because I’m not stupid,” Southgate said, winking dryly. “You’ll be a distraction for one another.” _I’ll be even more distracted if I can’t see her!_

“Actually, I’m not sure if this is a good idea either,” Max admitted hesitantly. Chloe knew why, judging from Max’s concerned face. Nobody in this group was particularly healthy, right now. She was still recovering from her smashy-time, Max’s powers were acting up, and Connor and the others were probably the most stressed they’d ever been in their entire lives. The detective had a vendetta so wicked that Chloe questioned whether the woman had their best interests at heart. They were going into a dangerous situation after Max’s fight with Chloe that was so recent that it could be their last memory together. If Max’s powers acted up again, she wouldn’t have Connor around to juice her up. Southgate couldn’t understand this unless they spilled the beans, which was out of the question. Furthermore, splitting Max up meant she would have to double-time it to the second team if anything went wrong. Then again, maybe Chloe was overthinking this and everything would be fine. Either way, she didn’t want to be away from Max.

“Olhouser wants to kill her,” Connor said, reminding them of the stakes. “If she’s put into harm’s way, that gives him just another chance.” _Right? Go Connor!_ “I don’t think we should risk it.”

“Let’s get something straight,” Detective Southgate said, chuckling. “Olhouser could care less about anyone else but you, Mr. Papworth. If what you’ve told me is true, we’re all expendable. I’m not going to let him lay a finger on her. Besides,” she made a strangely friendly hand gesture to Max. “I have a feeling that your power will be useful.”

“On second thought, it’s okay, guys. Really,” Max said, dismissively. “We all have a radio, right? If anything goes wrong, I’ll be able to handle it. Leanne’s right, I need to be here.” _I wish you didn’t need to be._ Southgate nodded with empathy, although it was unlikely she had any idea what she was empathizing with. Max couldn’t rewind if she was dead and Chloe hadn’t made it this far to lose her talented beautiful little photographer.

“Is this acceptable?” Southgate asked, her hands opening up to the group around the truck.

“Why him and I?” Chloe asked, curious to hear her reasoning.

“Mr. Papworth’s so-called abilities require open space to maneuver. I’m going to be frank with you: he can create plasma out of thin air, and you are the only other person with a pistol. I feel that special powers and guns are a perfect combo. _Oh shit, someone finally agrees with me?_ “So you feel the same?” Chloe wore a cocky smirk, but she quickly rubbed it off and nodded in agreement.

“What will we be looking for?” Aubrey clarified, as Southgate turned to answer.

“Any movement that isn’t us. Remember what we’re wearing—My black vest,” Southgate said, as she removed the coat she had been wearing for days. It crumpled to the floor of the truck bed. “Her plain clothes, the shoulder bag,” referring to Max, “Mr. Papworth’s red jacket, and her…” Leanne ran a hand across her chest to squeeze her own shoulder, her gaze on Chloe. “Well, how could you miss her?”

“Yeah, how _could_ you miss me?” Chloe rolled her head, staring up to the tree line. This woman recognized her individuality without being completely insulting, so that was kind of cool.

“And Olhouser’s been wearing a yellow raincoat with suspenders,” Connor said, rubbing his chin. “Easy target to spot, I’d think.” It would be, granted their two spotters were looking in the right places. Chloe knew they were dealing with a paranoid survivalist who had already made this place his fortress. The guy had been unpredictable to her friends so far.

“Most important of all, is to look out for traps,” Southgate said, her tone becoming grave. “In the past, Olhouser has left tricks and hazards for my partner and I. No doubt he’ll have this area booby-trapped just as much.”

“Don’t forget these,” Hyram said, motioning down to the duffle bag filled with respirators. He distributed them out to each person, just in case anything went wrong underground. Connor had emphasized taking them, and Max had his back on it. Whatever happened the first time they faced off with the old man must have involved smoke and fire.

“What happens if Mr. Wright’s dead?” asked Max, and Chloe found that strange considering Max had rewound once and been through this. Wouldn’t she know the answer to that? Unless something really odd was going on, Chloe was confused. A dreadful silence lingered on, until Southgate’s serious glare changed to an audible response.

“Pray that Olhouser dies fast. He’ll wish it was quick. Are we ready?” Everyone around the truck exchanged glances—filled with uncertainty and foreboding fear, everyone accepted what they were about to do and shook their heads. Chloe knew she was ready to end this. “It’s time to get to work.”

“Be careful, okay you two?” Aubrey asked of Connor and Hyram, a sense of apprehension present in her tone.

“We will,” Connor told her, grabbing hold of her arm as Hyram turned to shake his head yes at Connor.

As they divided into their respective teams and readied up, Chloe caught Max by her arm. Max stared into Chloe’s eyes, allowing her to read exactly what was on the brunette’s mind. Eyes were often described as a gateway into the soul, and Chloe saw the yearning in Max’s to be done with this and make it up to Chloe for all of her mistakes. “Max. Before we go out there, I think you need to remember that I love you.”

Max’s gaze warmed up immediately, red spilling into her cheeks. “I love you too, punkass.”

Chloe led Connor along the edge of the property, going right towards the hilly terrain. Of course, Connor already knew his way around as he had been here before, too. It was hard for Chloe to remember that, even watching the stern features of his countenance each time he took a look around. It was crazy how much he and Max didn’t know about their powers. It was just more secrets to pile upon the already steep hill of them. How much did Connor truly understand, and how much did Max even know about herself? Coupled with that, had Connor really gone off the deep end and doomed everyone in the last attempt? She had to make sure that didn’t happen again, even if it meant knocking him out.

“So this is it, huh?” Chloe whispered as they entered a tall patch of grass running across the hills beside the former barn. “We just swoop in, hope Olhouser isn’t down in the Dark Room and hope Mr. Wright’s kicking?”

“Max would tell us otherwise if he wasn’t, right?” Connor replied with a bit of foresight Chloe felt dumb for not appreciating.

“Yeah,” Chloe said, reassuring herself of Max’s prowess. They were almost to the former barn, where they could already hear gas-powered generators running somewhere nearby. “Sure. Just kind of hard letting her go off with that woman.”

“You’re also probably worried about killing Olhouser,” Connor fought with some of the tall grass in front of him until Chloe pulled the blade of saw grass aside for him. _Projecting your own fears, Connor?_ He was the one who felt responsible for their deaths in the other reality. “Shit, this probably looks like a safari hunt to him. We’re just lions moving through the Savannah.”

“You’ve never heard how many stories end with the hunter getting pounced on before he has a chance to shoot,” Chloe quipped. Although Connor had a point: they needed to either move slower or get out of the tall grass. It made wonderful cover, but they had to look like a herd of elephants. “I’m not worried at all. I’ll cap his ass if I have to.” Just as they had seen before leaving the truck, right outside the tall grass was a broken fence coupled with debris from the barn high enough to hide their approach. They were close enough to see the two generators and the steps descending to Hell, coupled with the dug up terrain and canopy.

Chloe exited the grass as gracefully as possible, taking an abrupt look around the area. Seeing the last standing wall of the barn and the generators ahead of her and nobody else in the area, not even at the red farmhouse where Max and Southgate were supposed to be, Chloe took one step forward. If there were a problem, Aubrey or Hyram would’ve radioed in about it already.

“Duck!” shouted Max through the radio, spooking the punk. Without hesitation Chloe dropped, letting her knees slide out from under her. As she hit the ground with a thud, the sound of a gunshot rang out and somewhere behind her a bullet pulverized the dirt.

At the farmhouse, shit had hit the fan. Everything became blurry as Max held out her hand, the power of time and space around her intoxicating. She had to warn Chloe before she got shot, before their plan was jeopardized and before they had a chance to locate Olhouser or Mr. Wright. Somehow, he had spotted them. It was like the old man had known where to wait for them, and Max had a creeping suspicion that Olhouser might have had powers of his own. The shape of Southgate walking in reverse beside her and the rundown interior of the farmhouse were almost like mirages. Max released her grip on time, and without a breath took the radio off of her waistline. “Duck!” She shouted just under a yell, and then Hugh Olhouser’s rifle fired at Chloe again.

“What the fuck?” Southgate eyed her in disbelief, although she was just as aware that the shooter had fired from above them, upstairs. Olhouser had been in the house the whole time. Max pointed up at the ceiling, and Southgate opened fire relentlessly the instant they heard creaking in the floor boards. Her bullets pierced the flooring, allowing streams of light to shine down upon them. Everything was happening so fast that it was hard for Max to keep up. It was reminiscent to a time where she had to help Chloe’s stepfather incapacitate Mark Jefferson while she had been tied to a chair. Somebody heavy stumbled across the upstairs floor, away from the front and towards the staircase at the end of the farmhouse. Southgate stomped over to the beginning of the staircase, her handgun raised without consulting Max on the next move. _I wish she just knew about my powers!_ After praising Max for her usefulness, the detective had ostensibly cast that aside. This could prove a fatal decision for her, and just as Southgate had warned there were indeed booby-traps. However, in the heat of the moment it appeared that the detective had forgotten her own warning. In the darkness, it was hard to see what was straight ahead but Max heard the metal jaws clamp down on Southgate’s ankle and her piercing scream. It was followed by a chilling laugh from the old man as he fired his rifle from the bottom of the staircase, the flash illuminating Southgate’s body as she flew into the wall.

“You’s ready to meet your Maker?” Hugh Olhouser asked Max across the house, as he lunged forward with his rifle. Max threw up her hand and rewound, the familiar blur and mysterious noises of time and space greeting her. This time however, she felt weak and heavy, like something was sucking the air right out of her lungs. The strain only increased when a twinge somewhere in her head turned into a sharp, stabbing headache. Releasing her hold on time, Max reset the moment to just before Olhouser shot at Chloe. Max grabbed for her radio, shouted for Chloe to duck, and the gunshot rattled throughout the area. Before Southgate had a chance to react, the time traveler put a firm hand on the woman’s arm.

“Wait,” she demanded, and even through the darkness Max could see Southgate’s impenetrable eyes. “Just wait.” They had spotters for a reason, and the last time Max saw this scene unfold Aubrey had either shouted a report and was ignored or the repeated shootings took her attention off the radio.

“He shot at Chloe from the 2nd floor window,” chimed in Aubrey. Max glared up to Southgate, pointing to the spot where the second floor window would be at. Southgate grimaced, and with the shift of her feet, she planted them firmly on the ground and unloaded her entire clip into the shooter’s roost. This time, they heard somebody hit the wall rather loudly and their surprised grunt was clear. Southgate had to have hit him at least once in that barrage and before she could rush off, Max pointed out the metal jaws in the hallway before them. One could just make out the tiny glimmer of light refracting off of the bear trap, where the detective had stepped on it only moments before in another life. Southgate acknowledged her roughly, until another bang deafened Max. From up above, Olhouser had begun firing down at them through the flooring. Max could see the barrel of Olhouser’s rifle staring back at her through the floor as Southgate pulled her out of the firing zone. _This is getting so out of hand!_ She raised her hand to rewind again when the twinge she had felt returned, overpowering every other sense. Max wanted it to be over. She could just make out Southgate at the end of the house, rushing up stairs.

“What a waste of talent.”

Nobody had said that. Nobody else was in the house with them and yet Max had just heard it, clear as day. More troubling was the fact that she had entered time and space as this phantom voice spoke to her. It lingered in her mind like words from her past, the words that Mark Jefferson had once soiled her name with. That would’ve been enough to set off an alarm but she was more alarmed by the way her powers were working; instead of rewinding, time was proceeding in _slow motio_ n. Southgate was still running up the stairs, though at a snail’s pace in this state. Her powers had been crazy and abnormal before, but this was a first. There was no explanation or manual Max could consult to understand any of this and it definitely wasn’t what she had experienced at Blackwell. It frightened her to think that things were happening to her body that she couldn’t understand and as the sharp head pain became too much to bare she dropped onto her palms, whimpering in agony. It hurt _so_ _much_ , overbearing and intense.

“No matter what reality, you’re always the thorn in my side.”

Max screamed in pain, ready to pull her own hair out until everything was deathly silent. Managing to take a look around the room, she saw the dust particles suspended in the air above the floor where she’d fallen. Behind her, Southgate’s feet were barely noticeable ascending the stairs in the dimly-lit building, along with the specks of light shining through the boarded up front door frame. Time was frozen, just as it had been when Kate Marsh had jumped and nearly died. This would mark the second time she had gone through such an experience.

“Not again,” Max said, pushing herself up on to her feet. She had no aim, no understanding of where to go, or what to do and continued battling the pain in her head. “Why does this keep happening to me?”

“Because you’re too intrusive, Maxine. It’s always who you’ve been.”

“Shut up!” Max called out to the phantom, still clutching her brown hair and trying to tough through the pain. The voice started to sound closer, more real. It was outside somewhere, taunting the photographer. Max, getting up to her feet, staggered toward the boarded up door frame, placing her hands on the old rotten wood. They had been decaying far longer than since 2013, and that made it easy for Max to pry them loose.

“Believe me, Maxine. I’m not coming to you in some quantum-time call because I want to. I’m here because you’ve set me back at least a few years.” The voice spoke as if it wasn’t merely a part of her imagination, but rather somebody else entirely. _Quantum time-call?_ _And they’re calling me intrusive?_ Max, the need to retreat overcoming her, turned to peer over her shoulder and spotted the horrifying mug of Hugh Olhouser, frozen in time—except that he was _right_ behind her, and Southgate was on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. None of this was consistent with how her powers had acted in the past. As if she were dealing with a weeping angel, Max refused to take her eyes off of him. She began pulling at the two-by-fours keeping her from freedom, occasionally slipping on the planks without the proper attention to detail.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” Max muttered as she pulled the wooden panels loose from the frame.

“Oh, yes you did.” The voice told her. “You’ve been writing your own fate since you joined the likes of Demigods. Isn’t it exhilarating?”

“I never asked for this power! It’s done nothing but make me miserable!” Max shouted, knocking the final panel free. She backed away from Olhouser, hands raised like a monster striking prey. _Is any of this real, or am I really going nuts?_ Outside and away from the clutches of Olhouser, Max backed away from the farmhouse, still grappling with her pain until she bumped into something in her path. She spun around fast, seeing somebody considerably taller than her in a dark hooded jacket. Unlike the world around them, this person was animate—the edge of their hood crumpled as they lowered their chin to stare in judgment at the bewildered Max Caulfield. Obscuring their face was a black opera mask and a head wrapped in cloth. It was impossible to discern anything about this person, although what they looked like was far from the first question Max had. Even the voice felt genderless and beyond human, as they spoke without a hint of movement.

“You did that yourself,” they said, their hands hidden away in their front pockets. “It’s all of your own accord. Just as I have done.”

“You’re the Yatagarasu,” Max said with a gasp, her stomach dropping. The hooded figure raised their chin, grunting at Max’s deduction.

“And you’re wasting away your life with powers that could make or break the entire universe, Maxine Caulfield. You’re interfering in a grand scheme, a scheme that you don’t even have the capacity to understand.”

The quantum time-call comment, the implication of special powers, the fact that this person was far from an illusion, some kind of plan, multiple realities—Max wasn’t just dealing with another person with special abilities—no, Max was dealing with another _time traveler;_ one that was much, much more powerful than she was. That changed _everything_. The pain in her head came back in force, making it hard to focus on the Yatagarasu in front of her. Max wished she could dig out whatever was in her head, whatever was causing so much of this sharpness. When she opened her eyes, the Yatagarasu wasn’t alone. Surrounding Max, were ghosts from her past, and all of them judging her. This was a fucking nightmare much like one she had had before; the souls of a city she had condemned to death tormenting her.

First, she saw her former art teacher, Mark Jefferson wearing the hungry, ravenous glare she barely remembered from her time abducted in the Dark Room. Beside him was David Madsen, regarding her with that superior look he always gave to everyone. Chloe’s mother, Joyce, stood beside him, pitying her like she always did when Max or Chloe were in trouble. Nathan, Kate, Victoria, even Warren were crowding her, although not one of them moved. How could they, anyway? She had inadvertently killed them all, and all the remorse in the world wouldn’t change that.

“So she’s the one?” a boisterous, cocky voice behind the crowd of ghosts asked. Max saw the Yatagarasu’s hood turn slowly toward their direction. “ _This_ is Max Caulfield?” All at once, Max recognized the slowly-emerging face of the blonde-haired woman with eyes that could burn a forest to the ground. Her lips were moving, her eyes were glaring, and she was not merely a ghost like the rest of them. They were as real as the hooded figure standing before Max.

“Max knows all about sacrifice, doesn’t she?” the Yatagarasu asked, turning back to Max, the brunette still mortified by the jury of her peers. Max wanted to scream that she was sorry and that she couldn’t handle this. All she had been doing for the past five years was trying to live life happily with Chloe, making up for any of her past mistakes. Even now while she tried to fix things yet again, she fucked everything up. There was no escaping the guilt no matter what she did, even while the adversary stood beside the figure of somebody Max had never met in person; a figure that Max had both envied and mourned despite all of her knowledge coming from Chloe. Rachel Amber, just as animated and lively as Max herself, stared down at her with a scornful frown. Something was off about the girl because she looked so different from all the pictures. As if Rachel hadn’t been killed and buried, this Rachel was older, more mature looking and she was standing next to the Yatagarasu in the middle of time and space—and she was scrutinizing Max with every blink and breath.

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you Maxine? So much you need to learn.”

“Connor, Southgate, Olhouser? People aren’t toys to be used like this!” Max shouted at them both. “The whole planet is at stake here!”

While Max could hear the Yatagarasu laughing, the shrouded face showed no signs of emotion. Once again, Max had no idea if they were actually speaking or if this was all in her head. It _had_ to be in her head, right?

“Max” said Rachel, something that Max had never fathomed she’d hear the dead woman ever say. She also had no possible way of knowing how much it would chill her. “You’re a hypocrite,” Rachel shook her head derisively.

“The universe is infinite,” said the Yatagarasu. “When you have the power to change destiny, nothing is sacred and everything belongs to you.”

“The Storm, the future I’m here to stop do _not_ belong to me,” Max decreed. “And that’s all that you’re going to do. You’re going to destroy us all.”

“The world is already sick. You, of all people, should know this. Wiping that town off the map was a blessing. Just ask Missus Amber, here,” the Yatagarasu gave the blonde-haired woman a platform to speak on, though she had been speaking this entire time with her body language. This Rachel did not care for Max, and each moment she spent burning a hole through the photographer with her gaze was another moment of agony. “It was a cancer, and just one of many. If the world isn’t going to fix itself, then I’ll do what I can. It will be a brand new world. It’s time that we evolve, Max.”

“You’re an evil bastard,” Max said desperately looking away from Rachel and the Yatagarasu. “You were going to let Connor kill everybody to start this all, weren’t you? You can’t sacrifice people like this. That’s not how we make things better! Just using my powers, _our_ powers, makes disasters happen! How is any of this better?”

“Nonsense, Max,” the Yatagarasu said.“Infinite universes, infinite possibilities. This is just one of many realities where our paths have been destined to cross. But in this reality, evolution requires sacrifice.”

“I’ll stop you. No matter what,” Max said defiantly, almost losing her grasp on consciousness. The pain was just so bad that she couldn’t even keep her head up.

“Oh? No matter what?” the Yatagarasu mocked her, the hood briefly turning to meet eyes with the grandiose Rachel Amber. The woman no longer killed her with those fiery green eyes. Where the face of a nightmarish ghost had been was replaced by the Rachel that Chloe had always talked about. The alluring smirk, one brow risen, and eyes that spoke a thousand words, Rachel Amber was a firebrand in that moment. Max felt threatened and challenged at the same time by this woman. It finally clicked, then and there, that this had to be the Oracle. The Yatagarasu had brought her back in some form or another. If this person could cheat death, then how could Max even think of standing up to them?

 _I’ve cheated death so much that it created a fucking storm. If I can do that, I’ll find them._ “No matter what. I’ll stop you!” Max spat with her last piece of strength as she fell to the ground in exhaustion. Her face had to be bloodied again because Max felt like death.

“War it is, then,” the Yatagarasu declared, and that was the last thing Max heard. The shapes around her faded, the jury of her peers now vanished. Time began to speed up until the world around her was once more alive.

As Chloe dropped to the ground, Connor found himself doing exactly the same in the tall grass. Right in front of him the bullet slammed into the ground, shooting up bits of dirt into the air. Connor looked madly about, trying to ascertain just where they had been shot at from. From the ground, the punk turned away from the farmhouse and gritted her teeth toward Connor. If he could read expressions well, then he would guess Chloe was spooked. Thank god that there had been a pile of sheet metal and debris for cover.

“He shot at Chloe from the 2nd floor window,” a panicked Aubrey said over the radio. Connor rushed out to Chloe, quickly helping her gain her footing as more gunshots went off in the farmhouse.

“Max?” Chloe shouted, her tone elevated. As much as Connor wanted to know the outcome of the firefight, they had to get out of the open while Olhouser had a sniper’s nest.

“Chloe,” Connor said firmly, lightly patting her on the forearm. She looked back to him in a rare moment of uncertainty, as if she needed guidance. “Let’s roll!” He began to jog towards the Dark Room, with the violet punk close behind. Soon, they would be inside the bunker, free Detective Wright from his chains and then they could put a stop to this madness.

As they made it across the open field and were within leaping distance of the staircase, Connor spotted strange movement out of the corner of his vision. It hadn’t been there literally a second before hand. Aimlessly wandering into the clearing with blood all over her face was Max. _Not again, fuck!_ The photographer looked incredibly debilitated and the sight brought Connor to a complete stop. Chloe had already made it down the staircase, caught up in the rush of the scene. _Should I deviate and go help her?_ He was conflicted, being unable to see the perpetrator or Detective Southgate anywhere. This was starting to look like a disaster brewing especially for someone like Max, who was mentally gone and wandering the open clearing while a murderer was loose.

“Fuck it!” Connor cursed, rushing over to help the zombie-like Max, who had fallen face-first into the dirt. This was way worse than the first bout of delirium, and from the looks of things Connor would be hauling her ass away. Despite Max’s clumsy collapse onto the ground, he could see the stream of blood coming from her ears. This day had not been easy on the two of them, but Max continued getting the brutal end of it.

Quickly rolling her onto her side, Connor began to ask if she was okay. Max didn’t answer, instead repeating ‘Yatagarasu’ over and over under her breath. She couldn’t answer basic questions and did not respond to anything he did or said. As Connor tried to help her stand, she started to swat at him, and grab for her head.

“Your head okay?” asked Connor, worrying over the amount of blood trailing down from her ears.

“I’ll stop you. No matter what. I’ll stop you. No matter what,” Max muttered, dragging her fingers across her face and smearing the dirt and blood

“Stop who?” Connor inquired, frantically trying to get Max moving and out of the clearing. “Max, where’s the Yatagarasu at?” Finally, Connor saw the old man in his raincoat emerge from the house, reloading his rifle and marching straight for them. While he looked gravely wounded, the old man would stop at nothing to see his plan through. Max was still unable to stand and barely responsive. This was about to get _really_ fucked up, but for the first time in a long while, Connor wasn’t scared of anything.

“Connor?” Aubrey called in on the radio. “He’s coming. What’s happening with Max?” Connor didn’t reach for his radio, glaring Olhouser down as he came closer and closer. “Connor?” He took a firm stand in front of Max, blocking the old man from a direct shot on her. If Olhouser was going to try and kill Max, he’d have to shoot through Connor to get to her. Unlike the first time they had squared off, Connor understood how to use his powers much more clearly. He held up an arm, his face sharpening as he felt the air move around him. It warmed and shifted, some leaves dancing around above him. Yes, Connor had a grasp on the weather. He remembered exactly how _much_ raw power he had harnessed, and within an instant he dropped his hand. He could kill the planet if he didn’t get it right, and Connor had no confidence that he _could_ get it right. Olhouser shot him a crooked smile, giving him the impression that the old man knew the turmoil within him. The leaves, no longer dancing in the flurry, floated to the ground. He couldn’t do this, not again. Not after what had happened the first time.

“We’s meet at last,” Hugh Olhouser said, sparing not one minute as he aimed the long rifle up at Connor. “Get’s out of the way.” As much as Connor wanted to watch the man electrocute, as much as he wanted to just unleash that terrifying power he had somehow accrued, he couldn’t. Nobody, not even the one wielding it, should have such a power to start with. “Move’s over and let’s it happen!”

“Go fuck yourself,” Connor replied with crass, his chest rising and falling faster and faster as he glared at the awful old man. “You and the Yatagarasu have hurt enough people.”

“Suit’s yerself,” the old man growled, lowering his head to stare down the scope on the rifle. Connor could almost feel the ground trembling underneath him, although it was probably his own battered nerves. As the seconds passed by, Connor had less faith that Detective Southgate or Chloe would arrive in the nick of time. It was looking more likely that he would have no choice but to fry Hugh Olhouser, with the utmost care not to cause doomsday. The responsibility that came with such a task was solely on his shoulders. That was too much to bear alone, but Connor closed his eyes, balled his fist and readied himself to kill Olhouser. “You’s gonna be our salvation whether you want’s to be or not.”

He hesitated. He couldn’t kill Olhouser and control his nerves at the same time. This had been a last minute decision, and one he knew he wasn’t walking away from. The deafening crackle came, and Connor winced. The bullet that would no doubt have traveled straight through him never came. He opened his eye to see Hugh Olhouser slam into the ground, with bits of brain matter everywhere. The old man hadn’t seen it coming. The rifle that had only moments ago threatened to take both Connor’s and Max’s life fell with him. Though it wasn’t bullets, Connor was assaulted by heavy rain, a downpour so spontaneous that it had to have been caused by his anxiety. Hugh Olhouser laid on the ground, a massive hole in his head. The fucking nightmare was finally over. He was dead.

Coming to his senses, Connor saw the moustached detective, clinging to Chloe for support. He looked just as bad as Max, several open wounds visible all over his torso and legs. In his hands was the gun that had ended Olhouser’s reign of terror. He could barely make out the commands that Mr. Wright shouted at him over the roaring rain, but he did spot his two friends who had been hiding emerge from the forest. He didn’t feel like he was actually alive or even standing in the rain.

Together, they got Max to her feet and helped her back to Chloe’s truck. Mr. Wright rushed off to the farmhouse with Hyram and Aubrey, and Connor sincerely wanted to believe that Detective Southgate was alright. The urban explorer lost track of the world around him, processing things very slowly. Before he realized it, he was in the back of Aubrey’s beige SUV, following Chloe’s beat up truck. The rain had only gotten worse and visibility was low enough that Aubrey could barely keep up with the others. Connor knew that the rain was his fault, and even as he tried some exercises to relax, the rain did not relent.

Connor closed his eyes. It could be worse. It could be way, way, worse.


	20. Evolution

**Chapter 20: Evolution**

 

_March 18_ _th_ _2015_

He still couldn’t believe it was finally done with. Sure, Connor hadn’t had a chance to brush himself off—metaphorically speaking, that was—and walk away from the whole mess, but they had won. In a literal sense though, Connor sat in the waiting room of a hospital he’d never been to before. Detectives Wright and Southgate had gotten immediate medical attention, and even with Chloe’s protestation Max had been roped into the examination room. In the end though, it turned out alright for the photographer as she had awoken during the exam. Connor had been so worried over Max after the grueling day of torture she had gone through. To hear that she was alive and well meant a lot to him. _I hadn’t slept until I heard from her. I still feel like I could lay down for a thousand years and not get up._ Connor wiped the sweat from his forehead and sighed. He had rejected an examination himself, no matter how pushy Aubrey and Hyram had been about it. Those two were also present, waiting, for the moment, to check in on their unlikely allies.

The cover story that they had told the police was sketchy, at best. They simply admitted to the fact that they were trying to cover the destroyed town of Arcadia Bay for their webshow. That wasn’t a lie at all. That was as far as they’d gone with the truth, because the story was that they had discovered Mr. Wright and Ms. Southgate on the verge of death and Max had passed out from shock. Her bloodied face wasn’t that much of a tough sell since the hospital personnel who saw her that way were mostly occupied with the detectives. One nurse had mentioned it to the cops and they asked, but Chloe assured them that Max had helped carry Mr. Wright into the truck bed. Chloe was wary of speaking to anybody but the police—even then, she wasn’t fond of that either—and after she had explained to Connor on the phone why only an hour ago, it made so much sense. She and Max were the only survivors of the Arcadia Bay tornado; after covering their tracks as best they could, the last thing those girls needed were reporters and conspiracy crackpots to find them _again._

Connor’s curiosity shifted from the past day to some far more jovial matters. _Okay, so they’re not actually jovial. More like, melodrama and way less important than the end of the world, jovial._ Across the white waiting room, Connor observed his bluenette friend furiously texting away on her cell, sticking her tongue out at him once she noticed him watching. Aubrey had said she would be keeping the blue hair for a while. It was nice to hear that it had grown on her, because it had sure grown on her two pals as well as the violet-haired outlaw that had turned her on to it. Hyram was here, somewhere. Connor was sure he had stepped out to find the restroom and considering the random text message that Hyram had sent him, he wasn’t sure he wanted to open it. Browsing the net and sharing memes while riding the porcelain express was still pretty damn weird to him.

He wanted to tell Aubrey that it felt like years had gone by since they had driven past the California-Oregon state line, but they weren’t alone in the room. A nosy old woman who Aubrey was being cordial with insistently tried talking to them about the corrupt state of the democrats. Connor knew what she meant, but the superior and aggravating tone the old woman used came off as disingenuous. He _was_ a Green Party member, after all. The instant she expressed support for a certain senator from Vermont, Connor held back every urge to jump right into discussion. At this point, politics or religion would be a much saner topic than discussing the fact that they had somehow avoided doomsday. It sure kept him from thinking about some of the depressing truths that lingered throughout the day.

They were saved by a nurse who buzzed the three of them in to Mr. Wright’s recovery room. They had been waiting for at least an hour, having nothing to do otherwise aside from loitering at their hotel in Doppler and in all honesty, Connor had been on the edge of his seat when it came to hearing from Mr. Hugo Wright. Sitting in the hospital bed in a blue gown was the dark-haired man with a moustache. The gown obscured most of the wounds that Connor had seen on the man the previous day, though a bandage wrapped around his head indicated some injury the narrator hadn’t noticed. Although he looked like hammered shit, this man owed his life to them. He gave them one look over, changing from a face of relief to one of perplexion.

“Where are the other two?” the detective asked, adjusting his seating in the hospital bed.

“They’ll be here,” Connor assured him. Connor had no idea how it was possible, but Max and Chloe were late. _Insert time travel pun here._ From how Mr. Wright was holding he was looking tremendously better than when they had pulled up to the emergency room. When hospital personnel had hauled Southgate and Wright inside, Chloe had begun fighting with staff over the fact that Max had been covered in blood and unresponsive. As it turned out, Chloe was not her spouse and did not have power of attorney, so the hospital had taken Max by legality. The narrator wouldn’t have known about these caveats had it not been for the criminal justice major with them, and neither would have Chloe despite her pressure for Aubrey to help search for loopholes in the laws. They didn’t deny her girlfriend the right to accompany them though, and it was fine since Max had nothing wrong with her. _Oh, well, nothing wrong that_ they _could see._ Connor assumed that the two girls were stressing over the tab it would run for them. They were a couple of millennials in debt just like the rest of them. The girls deserved to get answers as much as he and the others did, so Max and Chloe ought to be here as soon as possible. Honestly, it had been nearly a full day since Max had been discharged and she hadn’t said much to them even at the hotel. The time traveler needed to give them answers on what had happened during the fight at the barn. That would come later, though, as for now they were here for things that the detectives could share.

“Good. Good. Those two deserve a proper thanking as well,” said Mr. Wright. “Ms. Southgate will live. They had one hell of a night with her, but she’s alright. In the middle of treatment, she came to in a fit of hysterics. As far as I know, she’s been sedated with morphine for some time.”

 _Ouch_. If they were using morphine to keep her down then her injuries were way worse than he had thought, but waking up in a panicked frenzy after being shot? He was privileged enough not to have experienced such a moment, and he was glad he’d never have to. _Thank god she made it through the night._ Connor realized he was genuinely glad to hear that this strange woman who had threatened them, who had literally murdered Hyram in the original timeline, survived. He frowned, wondering if it was simply because she was a human or if he was glad _Southgate_ lived. Mr. Wright met his frown with an amused grunt.

“She’ll grow on you. That woman has a soul, even if she doesn’t show it.” _Yeah, but you have no idea what she did in another life._ At least his two friends showed civility in the face of it all, with Aubrey voicing her support for Leanne’s recovery and Hyram—well, Hyram had actually hauled her ass out of the farmhouse and into the hospital. It couldn’t get more ironic than that, but his two friends were pleasantly relieved for her although Connor suspected it was more that they would be speaking to Mr. Wright instead of Ms. Southgate for the remainder of their stay.

“We’ll take your word for it,” Hyram said slickly, an evident glare from Aubrey giving him the usual ‘shut up’ indicator. He retreated, taking a few steps back and a bashful smile. Hyram had changed on this trip, as they all had. But for this moment, Connor appreciated the fact that his oldest friend understood himself on a level previously impossible. _Thank you for doing something his best friend couldn’t do, Chloe._

“I’m grateful to be alive, trust me. She will be too. It’s not just the two of us in your debt, either.” Who could he be referring to with that comment? Now that Connor had the opening, he might as well take a stab in the dark.

“We’re more than happy to help, and nobody’s more ecstatic to hear your apology than me, but why the fuck did this happen in the first place? Why did you pursue us?”

“Do you truly blame us for giving chase?” Mr. Wright asked him, grunting painfully as he leaned in on a hurt knee. “Hear me out, Mr. Papworth. I’m hunting down a dangerous, possibly paranormal criminal outside of the law. Unexplained weather begins popping up just as it did in that city the week of that storm. I find Mr. Olhouser’s vehicle glassed into the pavement at Blackwell Academy. Then, three kids get through a magnetically sealed door without tools, without the knowledge to do so?” Mr. Wright laughed, watching Connor’s sunken face. “Mr. Papworth, my partner and I both suspected that you were either _the_ Yatagarasu or working _with_ the Yatagarasu. The possibility both enraged and frightened her. I even suspected you to be the Oracle that the old man wouldn’t stop talking about.” The Oracle could join the mystery of Max’s blackouts and the Yatagarasu. All three had been so far unsolved and he had hoped to talk to Max about them before they departed.

“What about now, huh?” Connor asked with a grin, folding his arms. “What am I to you now?”

“Worthy of respect,” Mr. Wright offered deference. “But not just in my opinion. You’ll find out momentarily.”

“What do you mean?” Connor asked what had been written on everyone’s face. _That must be what he meant by momentarily._ Mr. Wright had been alluding to somebody else for a few minutes without clarifying who he was talking about. Connor was especially curious himself, and after the past few days he was tired of trying to figure things out. For once, maybe someone could just spoon-feed them the information.

A ringing drew everyone’s attention to the coffee table across the room near the window, where the detective’s personal cell phone was loudly vibrating and playing the theme song of a 90s TV show. _How professional of you_. Connor would’ve gotten in trouble if he had been on post at his job and something this obnoxious had gone off, but at the same time, Mr. Wright could get away with it working freelance, probably. The moustached man requested that somebody fetch the phone for him, so Aubrey delivered it into his bandaged hands. After picking it up, he began answering questions with very brief, one or two word replies.

“Yes,” he said reassuringly. “Of course, you’re spot on with timing. So is Ms. Southgate. Yes ma’am. Oh no, they’re here right now.” Mr. Wright turned the phone and placed it on the edge of the bed after playing with its screen. “Ahem,” he cleared his throat. “It’s on speaker phone. They can hear you fine.”

“Okay,” the feminine voice replied, nervously. Although it was a smart phone, the quality was worth commenting on. The person on the other end indeed sounded like they were right across from Connor in the room. “Erm, am I speaking to Maxine Caulfield and Chloe Price?”

As if perfectly rehearsed, a clicking door knob alerted everyone to the fashionably late short brunette and band-tee punk. “Max. Never Maxine.” Max had bags under her eyes and definitely hadn’t slept well, but her chipper attitude could fool you.

“Whaddup, losers!” shouted Chloe less than enthusiastically. It looked like their trip over wasn’t the funnest, although neither girl looked particularly miserable. At least Max was bright eyed and bushy tailed on the surface. Connor really wished them the best with working out their issues.

“The other three are here as well,” Mr. Wright specified, eyeing Connor and his friends. “Mr. Papworth, Mr. Auteberry, Ms. Snyders.” Connor was beyond mere confusion by now. Was this Mr. Wright’s employer, the person who had sent them out here in the first place? Why would they want to talk?

“Okay, it’s good to hear from you all,” said the speaker on the other end of the call. “My name is Kristine Prescott. I’ll call you Max if you just call me Kris.” The woman on the phone gave a polite laugh, indicating that she was just as worked up over this as he and the others had been. It wasn’t nearly as chilling as he had expected. This wasn’t Deepthroat, or Guccifer, no Deckard or Cypher. It was a Prescott, and from the sound of it, a Prescott that couldn’t possibly have been related to Sean or the awful deeds Aubrey had told him about this family. This woman had an innocent sincerity present in the way she spoke, how she was choosing her words while still stammering. It could have been a mask to hide her true demeanor of course, but his intuition told him otherwise. Most surprising of all, if a Prescott had called Mr. Wright after seizing those Prescott documents then that _had_ to mean she was his employer. “Hugo and Leanne have been acting on my behalf.” _Bingo._

“I know who you are,” Max revealed tersely, scratching at her head beside a concerned Chloe. “Never thought I’d hear from you.”

“And here I’ve already pictured you guys as a secret organization. You’re seriously just private eyes?” Hyram questioned while looking askance, even as Aubrey jokingly raised the back of her palm to his head. Mr. Wright’s eyes appeared to roll dismissively, though Kris laughed over the phone. This one was a real laugh, not one done out of tension in the air.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but yes. They’re simply working for me. I am so, so sorry that the five of you were roped into this.” Connor gazed at Max and Chloe, the two girls looking unsettled that a Prescott was not only behind this but was reaching out to them. All of the girls in the room had gone on in unnecessary detail about how terrible Nathan Prescott and his family had been, and even Connor knew about Nathan’s dark deeds in regards to Mark Jefferson. To hear Kristine Prescott apologizing downright bizarre. _Not actually, but still… this is a Prescott. I feel weird._

“I wanted to thank you for saving their lives, though. I’m sure it wasn’t easy given Leanne’s recent behavior, but regardless. I am in your debt. They are more than employees, but my friends. Now you probably want some clarity as to what this has been all about.”

“Yes, that would be very appreciated,” said Max as nicely as she probably could to the Prescott on the phone.

“Before we go any further,” Kris led, “let me say that I am _not_ my father. I spent most of my life escaping that affiliation. I’m a PeaceCorps kid. I had nothing to do with anything that might have happened in Arcadia Bay. Unfortunately, my father did. Uncharacteristically, his entire fortune dried up after the storm hit. This wasn’t him turning over a new leaf, this was my family’s entire wealth stolen through several accounts fronting as legitimate foreign businesses. I’ll spare you the boring details, but I essentially came back to take what I could from inheritance with the hopes that I could do some good with it. Instead, my father had disappeared along with every bit of the Prescott Foundation, as well as every penny. Gone.”

Connor let out a ‘wow’ as she told the story, feeling like they were back into a tidal wave of mystery. He had a creeping suspicion that by the end of this story, they would have more questions left unanswered than resolved.

“I’m not poor, by any means. Despite my grievances with the family, I can get by fine. When it comes to Prescott wealth, though, I’m broke. Arcadia Bay died while my father was on a trip in DC. When I tried to reach out to him, he went missing and his business empire was instantly sold off? None of this sounded right at all. Thanks to Hugo and Leanne, we tracked down some of the stolen money to Hugh Olhouser, stockpiling an armory while in Portland. ATF had him on their radar, but they didn’t move on it. Typical, right? Somebody was funding that whack job with my inheritance.” Mr. Wright, who had been listening quietly, made a noise that must have been a cue for Kristine to watch what she said beyond this point. “Hugo, I think they’ve earned a right to know a little bit of the sensitive information.”

“It’s not ours to reveal,” Mr. Wright warned her. “Especially on an unsecured line.”

“It’s fine,” Max said, her hand outstretched with a smile. “Whatever you’re comfy with.” _Seriously, Max? You’re a damn pirate, too._ Connor smiled at the brunette, who had probably done her own digging before rewinding. Soon after that, though, Max went completely pale and looked as if she were about to lose her footing. Chloe caught her and made sure she was fine.

“If you insist,” Kris Prescott replied, oblivious to Max’s worsened state. “Some higher ups,” Kris paused, “in places beyond my reach believe that the funds came from this phantom Leanne and Hugo call the Yatagarasu.” A menacing feeling took hold in the room. While the hairs on his arms stood up, he couldn’t fathom what Max must have heard to make her sick.

“After those documents you found in my dad’s bunker, are you serious?” Leanne emphatically continued. “Would he be this fucking stupid? Maybe some of them could be real, right? But most of them _have_ to be doctored. I am aware that my father was a piece of shit but one thing he wasn’t, was careless. Every thing that Sean did was meticulous and calculated. The suicide note, most of all, is utter bullshit! With all that pride, he would not just kill himself. There’s no body, no blood, no trace of Sean Prescott anywhere. Whoever the Yatagarasu is, they had a hand in all of this. They stole my family’s fortune and made my father disappear. From the looks of things, they hadn’t expected one of us to get to that suicide note first.” _Not gonna lie, that would’ve been some crazy stuff to post up on our blog if we had it first…_

“More detail than I would’ve said, Ms. Prescott,” Mr. Wright remarked callously.

“Attitude, Hugo. You told me the gun nut was after them and ranting that they were important. You tell me, Hugo. Do they deserve to know who’s coming after them if this doesn’t stop here? You five must have been traumatized and that’s not something I can live with.” While Mr. Wright said nothing to this, the silence went on long enough for Connor to feel it unnecessary. _Of course it doesn’t stop here_. Kristine Prescott had said something that he had quite honestly wanted to forget about. There was always a chance that this wasn’t actually over, and that the consequences of this week would forever haunt them. Suddenly, Connor felt his own stomach churning. “Ms. Snyders,” Kris Prescott called for Aubrey.

“Hello,” Aubrey greeted Kris, and Connor was unsure where this was headed.

“What’s the damage on your SUV like?” Kris asked her, as if she were taking notes.

“Um, it’s got several bullet holes and smells like somebody died in it,” she answered candidly. _No, Aubrey. It’s_ rancid _. Remember?_

“I’ll fix it, no questions asked.” Kris declared, and Connor saw Aubrey’s eyes light up like this had been the best news of the entire trip. That would mean ultimately, that Aubrey could get back to her dorm without questions and wouldn’t have to explain to her family what the fuck had happened to the front of her car. “Ms. Caulfield, how about your night in the ER? I’ll do my best to help you pay for that, too. I feel responsible that you ended up in there.”

The time traveler was beyond enthused, though surprised by the offer. While standing on her own, she told Kris, “I won’t tell you no.”

Before Max could say any more, Chloe busted out an enormous grateful smile and spoke over her. “Max is being modest. Pretty please, Kris!”

“It’s my pleasure,” Kris Prescott said. “Nobody else got hurt, right?”

“My camera didn’t survive,” Hyram said, exaggerating a sniffle. “It gave its life valiantly striking Olhouser across the back of his head.”

“Calm down, Mr. Eastwood,” Aubrey choked back a harsher comment from the sound of it. “I’ll replace your camera. You saved me there, remember?”

“Send the make and model and I’ll have it done,” Kris said. “You aren’t allowed to replace it!”

“Wow,” Hyram said, with a small glimmer in his eyes. “It was partially a joke. I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

“Don’t worry at all. I’m just sorry you had to witness that grizzly scene with the old man,” she referred to Olhouser being shot through the side of his head. “I’m so glad nobody else had to die.” Connor was lucky that it hadn’t been him or his friends that pulled that trigger. At the end of the day, though, Connor still felt like a killer. In another reality, he had fried Olhouser to dust. He looked to Max, who was playing up her happiness quite a bit compared to the dizzy spell. He knew that the stoic, always worrying brunette was still there and just like him, she still felt like a killer. “The situation’s out of our hands now.”

“What do you mean?” asked Aubrey inquisitively.

“The Sheriff and State department are all over Arcadia Bay right now,” Mr. Wright answered them.

“Any evidence of your activities beyond what you’ve said on record has been erased by the absurd weather phenomenon,” Kris said and for a moment, Connor began to wonder if it was possible that Mr. Wright’s employer had no idea that he or Max had special abilities. “I’m really hoping the end of the world isn’t around the corner with how frequent it’s been getting.”

Whether it was ill-conceived amusement or genuine anxiety, Connor laughed nervously. _Oh boy, I sure hope it isn’t the end of the world, too!_ _At least I’m not sweating bullets here._ As he looked back to Max to gauge her own feel for the current story, he noticed that the photographer had slowly returned to her chipper attitude. _Max, I hope you can talk to us soon._

“Thank you so much, Kris. This means the world to us. I’m so sorry about your family and Arcadia Bay,” Max said, and he could that Max was almost apologizing for herself rather than for the events of that fateful week.

“Appreciate it, but don’t bother. I haven’t been a real Prescott for years. If it’s alright with everyone, I think it’s best if we all stay in touch. This investigation is far from over.”

“It’s on hold for some time, though,” Mr. Wright remarked, moaning as he laid back in the hospital bed. Scrunching his eyes, he continued, “Ms. Southgate will be merciless about finding them, but we both need time to recover and regroup. I second the notion to stay in touch, and I’m sure she would third it.” Saving their lives after everything they had done was one thing, if not merely the right thing to do. Keeping in touch, as in actively checking in, was a whole other thing. While he might be open to it, he had no idea what to expect from the others.

“Max and I have been through a lot,” Chloe briskly said, rubbing the back of Max’s neck. “After all of this excitement, I think we’d rather keep it low-key.”

“Wait, Chloe,” the brunette lightly tapped Chloe on the arm, stopping her.

“Max!” Chloe pulled her to the side of the room, staring straight at her. “When that woman wakes up, she’s gonna hound us with a thousand questions. Tell me you aren’t considering it?” The group watched the slight tension return. _Mr. Wright doesn’t know what Southgate knows. That’s disconcerting._ The two girls stepped out briefly, as if to negotiate in the hallway. For their sake, Connor wished for a speedy solution and no blow up like the junkyard fiasco.

“Think on it, please. I’ve gotta get going, but you know how to find Mr. Wright,” Kris said, bowing out for an reasons unkown. “Thank you again, so much.”

They spent just a bit more time with Mr. Wright, gathering the contact information and hearing his continued apologies. Remarkably, he didn’t ask them anything about the rescue or what they knew which was a huge relief. Unfortunately, or maybe in this case fortunately, Leanne Southgate remained out cold from the morphine and stress of her injuries. Luck had favored the woman, given the circumstances between Max’s failed rewind and her solo sparring match with Olhouser. Ultimately, Connor knew that this wasn’t the last time they’d run into either detective and next time would be on better terms. One could only hope, of course.

Connor relaxed in the back seat of Aubrey’s vehicle, which now smelled of cotton candy from the scented card adorning their rear-view mirror. It was an improvement, but the feint stench of wildman was still there. He flexed his free arm, as his other one was pinned against the seat by Aubrey. The bluenette had been unbelievably tired, having had disturbed sleep and a panic attack in the middle of the night. _I didn’t sleep anyway._ Her head rested against his side, and coupled with the seat belt he was essentially trapped. With the adorable CSI trainee next to him though, he couldn’t complain.

“Br _ooooo_ ,” Hyram quietly stared back through the rear-view mirror and then quickly stole a glance away from the road. “Is she fucking drooling?” Not only was the exhausted girl drooling as she slept on his shoulder, she elicited near-laughter out of Connor from her excessive snoring. He was careful not to be too loud though, as not to disturb sleeping beauty.

“She’s fucking drooling,” Connor confirmed smugly, resting his own head against hers. It was rare that the two of them shared a moment, but she was asleep and he was simply happy for the nightmare to be over. “If only you had a camera, right?” Through the rear-view mirror, he caught Hyram’s bright shiny smile and couldn’t stop his own from forming. Even though their lives were forever changed, this had been the most exciting trip Connor had ever taken. He couldn’t even imagine what the fuck would’ve happened if he had bailed like he had originally intended on.

“You ever realize you’ve been on autopilot until some huge change hits you right in the chest?” Hyram asked. “I’ve been so stuck in my own head since I left Cleveland, man. Seeing you two again, and then this fucking trip, I’ve had my ambitions way too narrow.”

“Uh, color me confused,” Connor said. He sort of knew exactly what Hyram was talking about, but not quite sure how it applied to him. Hearing somebody else bring it up made him realize how much time he had wasted in his own life just existing. Just trying to get by. To him, that sounded an awful lot like autopilot. “Dude, you’re 19 and already getting into Pharmacy School. You’ve got your shit together a lot more than you let on.”

“I live in fucking Muncie, Indiana. I could be kicking it in LA or Orlando where there’s a life to be lived, man,” Hyram sighed, touching the side of his face. “I just mean, Chloe made me think hard on this. Even Max sorta has, too. Everyone needs to live with their consequences instead of hiding from them, right? I fucking ran away from home to start a new life, but this whole time I’ve been thinking that this was an escape. It wasn’t. It was the best decision I could’ve made and I’ve been sabotaging myself by thinking negatively.”

Connor grew abnormally recognizant of the whole world in that moment. What had he been doing his entire life other than existing? What goals or ambition had Connor carried all the way to college? He was the only one of his friends who missed high school. He had the normal family, normal friends, and up until this trip a normal life. But what had he truly missed in life, always looking at what was right in front of him instead of everything around him?

“Connor, you look upset. Did I say something wrong?” Hyram inquired watching the road ahead. “I’m sorry if I did.”

“No, buddy. Uh, you didn’t,” as if sentiment were enough, a trickle in his eyes formed. Connor realized that his life had held no real meaning aside from his friends and family. He always thought that that should have been enough to live a happy life. Sure, he was aware of things in the world like politics, the environment, entertainment, but not places, settings, people. It was one of those big reasons why urban exploration was so damn magical to him. These places, stuck in time and never changing, inspired him. He could go at his own pace and find an inner peace, even on the top of an abandoned hotel on the beach. Connor hadn’t ever conceived that this feeling wasn’t just isolated to his imagination. No, the people he had met on this trip had shown him that life, was a truly strange thing. Just knowing how big the world outside was now, especially after learning about Max Caulfield, brought new meaning to his life.

“Hyram, don’t ever let go of that spark. You’ll light a fire that will never stop burning if you know how to use it. I think I just found it myself. I’m never hiding from my demons ever again.” Unfortunately, that also meant Connor had to deal with two important facts: that he was ultimately capable of total destruction and that he also didn’t have it in him to pull the trigger when necessary. He should have killed Olhouser that second time, and if Mr. Wright hadn’t been there Max might have been dead.

“Don’t get choked up, Connor. Ignore that depressamy street shit, you deserve a real vacation after this trip,” Hyram said, perhaps seeing Connor’s poorly-veiled crying. “Just remember you don’t have to do any of this shit by yourself okay? Max needs to remember that too.”

“You got it, buddy,” Connor replied with a smile. It wasn’t the greatest feeling in the world to dwell on these facts, but at least he was trying to deal with them.

“No offense, but next time can we explore some less risky shit? I’m totally down for like, normal spooky stuff. A haunted mansion, a midnight graveyard? Or at least a resort,” Hyram rubbernecked to see the green road sign as they drove past it, and Connor just caught the name. They were almost to their last stop in Oregon, so Connor rolled his head to stare out of the window at the beautiful cerulean waves and the small, secluded beach running along the highway.

“Less risky isn’t in my vocabulary. Don’t you remember that I was solo-uploading for half a year?” Connor listened to Aubrey mumble something totally unrecognizable. _You know, I could still snap a photo if I could just reach my phone in my pocket…_

“Oh yeah, who’s the edgy fuck now? Breaking the number one rule of urban exploration. Never go alone,” said Hyram. “Just because you’re Atmo-man now doesn’t mean you can put yourself in harm’s way.”

“I had really hoped you forgot about that stupid nickname, Mr. Gay Frog. Or is it just Alex, now?” Hyram gave a sarcastic and surrendering chuckle. They shared more of the ride in silence as the boy’s progressive rock tuned in just a touch louder than the previous song. “Actually, there is something to discuss. What _are_ we doing about AubreyRevoir?” Since the start of their trip, they hadn’t really discussed the fate of their series beyond a soft reboot, and gauging what people were willing to watch. After this trip, who knew if they were going to keep running their series?

“Hiatus, until further notice,” Hyram said with a disappointed sigh. “We need to get our shit in order, first. I feel like there’s so much I need to do, now.”

“Jesus Christ, Hyram. Chicks with tattoos tearing your whole worldview down?”

“More like our chick with tats has shown me I’m not beyond redeemable,” the cameraman admitted. “Connor, my man, Chloe’s somethin’ else. I sure hope she’s a _PlayBox_ girl.”

“I think you need to beat her in pool before she hops on a console with you,” Connor quipped. “I heard all about how embarrassed you were when you were piss drunk on the floor next to this one.”

“I was not piss drunk,” Hyram sternly clarified. “Neither one of us could be drunk dealing with that ball of energy. Anyway, speaking of Chloe, we’re T-minus five minutes out. Hope you’re ready.”

“Jeeze, Hyram. This isn’t the last time we’re gonna see them,” Connor said, yawning as he leaned back in the seat and listened to the tranquil sound of Aubrey’s tiny snores. He had both of his friends back. He had made two new ones, and one of them had unexplained superpowers too. All in all, most interesting Spring Break ever.

The music ended, and as Hyram adjusted the nob, the smooth rift of Pink Floyd was overcome by the excruciatingly loud metal. Connor busted out laughing and Aubrey jolted awake in a stupor. As Powerman 5000 blared over the speakers, Hyram screamed once more over the SUV’s love affair with Connor’s Bluetooth.

“GOD FUCKING DAMN IT CONNOR!”

There was something captivating about this meeting. Maybe because on one hand, it was the beginning of their friendship beyond all of the doomsday bullshit, but on the other hand, it might have been that this was the last time he’d see his friends, old and new, for a while. Connor stretched in the fold out chair, gazing off to the afternoon sun over the ocean. Chloe was enjoying her first beer of the day, her arms tightly wrapped around Max as the brunette sat in her lap on the sandy beach. Max was by no means heavy, but Chloe was equally thin and he imagined they couldn’t keep that position forever.

The serious business had been taken care of a while ago. Max had told them what she remembered of her strange trip into what she called “Time and Space”. Hearing that alone had been pretty trippy but then she had spilled the beans on the Yatagarasu. It sounded absolutely harrowing, and Max had described a pain that had been so enervating that she could recall only pieces of the altercation. She had made it clear, though, that the Yatagarasu was not done with either of them. Chloe had been distressed but it was so obvious how much of a difference it made to her that Max had cleared the air with everyone present. Connor had been left with a sense of inferiority in a cosmic sense after the whole story wrapped up. If he couldn’t handle Olhouser, and Max could barely handle the Yatagarasu then how could he possibly stand up to them if it ever came to that?

These thoughts made it oh so tempting to grab a beer and indulge. The windy breeze helped him relax as he put his head back in the foldout chair, his toes sinking into the sand. _I guess this is supposed to be our proper send off. All I feel is that we’re finally hanging out normally._ In his right ear, he could hear Hyram and Aubrey bantering as they used to do, this time noticeably tamer.

Hyram chose to chill on Chloe’s truck bed door while Aubrey sat in her own foldout chair close by. “The dents and holes on your car would’ve made for some epic battle scars,” the cameraman joked as the editor scoffed. “Hey! No need to scoff. Kris said she’s got you.”

“He ain’t lying, Aubrey,” Chloe joined in, teasing the bluenette. “Hell, I might have to get a tattoo to commemorate this day.”

“Why don’t you get a tattoo of a candy ass instead?” Aubrey unexpectedly shot back, and Connor opened his eyes and gave her a daffy grin. Did she _really_ dislike the nickname Chloe had endearingly given her? She was sipping her own beer, but this time she had vowed to be far more responsible. _As long as I don’t leave you alone with those two charlatans, you lightweight._

“Oh please,” Chloe closed her eyes, smirking over Max’s shoulder and placing a palm to her forehead. “I’m afraid we’re out of cheese to go with your vintage whine, madam.”

“Classy, Chloe,” Max remarked as the punk tightened her grasp on Max’s midriff. “So we’re totally staying in touch right?”

“Was that even a question?” Hyram asked as he stared off at the distant sun over the ocean. “Damn right we are.”

“Maybe you guys can visit us in LA?” Chloe asked quickly, her smile still strong.

“Well, we kind of grew up in the area to begin with,” Connor said. “I hope so.” Revisiting LA would be one hell of a nostalgia trip.

“Bottom line, friends keep up with one another,” Hyram said in a tone rather serious for the mood. “After this trip, I’d argue we’re beyond friends. Chloe, you’re the sister I never had.”

“Stop being dramatic,” Chloe rolled her eyes at his praise. “You’ve got family. Don’t replace them no matter how crazy they are. Next break, you guys are visiting and we’re getting hammered the proper way.”

“I think it’s time for the obligatory group photo,” Max said as she removed the old camera from her bag. Chloe peered down at it over Max’s shoulder. That camera meant something to the both of them even if they hadn’t talked about it.

“It’s photo time?” Chloe allowed Max to get up from her lap, stretching as she reached for the beer she’d placed in the sand. “As long as you ‘shop in a bunch of candy around Aubrey’s head.”

“We’re gonna beat this horse until it’s dead, aren’t we?” asked Aubrey as she folded her arms. They got into position, Max trying her best to angle the shot so everyone could be in the picture. Hyram had no idea what to do for a pose, evidenced by the thumbs up he gave to the lens. Connor tried to give the most authentic grin he could, which was difficult given how little he smiled for pictures. Behind him and the genuinely smiling Aubrey, Chloe threw up a middle finger and let her tongue fall out. As the Polaroid flashed and printed the picture out, Max grabbed it and shook the photo before examining the goofy scene.

“Chloe, why?” Max asked, staring up at the sky grimacing.

“Why what? Why am I so sexy?” she bumped her hip against the brunette as she walked up beside her.

“Why are you the way you are?” Max teased, rubbing her forehead. “I wanted just one normal picture of us.”

“Let’s consult the Chloe Price wikia for that answer,” Chloe replied.

The gang quite literally chilled on the beach as the temperature made its slow drop. While Connor had been enjoying the cool mid-60’s weather, it was starting to dip. One thing he wouldn’t miss about Oregon was the cold climate. It was hard for him to admit he had gotten used to the Sunshine State’s perpetual 80 and 90F temperature, because Florida had gone quite a while without a proper winter.

They had talked for hours. Aubrey and Max had found a shared interest in novels that Connor had heard of once or twice in school, with authors such as Ray Bradbury and Larry Niven. Occasionally, Chloe had jumped in and asked about a movie-book adaptation only to earn silent admonishment from the two bookworms. Hyram, on the other hand, had chosen to talk about sports like skating and roller derby—two things that Connor hadn’t thought he was interested in. Chloe had admitted she was big on skating but not so much on derby. By this time, even Connor had thrown out some suggestions, and it turned out that Chloe had been very riveted by the idea of swordplay and fencing. Connor had made a promise to let her visit his instructor if they ever came down to Florida. The conversations had come full circle by the time he noticed Max absentmindedly watching the sun disappear over the horizon. He was sort of exhausted from the group chat and thought it would be a nice time to sit down next to her and talk one on one. After all, this proper hangout had already gone on for at least four hours.

Max looked up at him as he plopped down in the sand beside her. With a tiny wave, she greeted Connor and gave him the impression that she was fine with his presence. “How are you doing, Max? It’s been a trip.”

Max rubbed the back of her arms briefly before she slowly turned her head toward him. “You have no idea. I’ve been on this trip since it left the station. You just got on-board.”

“Does that mean you aren’t doing well?” asked Connor. “That was a lot of shit to dump on us earlier.”

“I’ve still got a relationship to repair,” Max replied heavily. “I’m fucked up in the head. I keep mixing up memories with others that I’ve had for five whole years. None of this has been fair to Chloe.”

“None of this has been fair, period.” Connor groaned at the thought. “We’ve got so much to deal with. Do you intend on using your powers more often?” It was a question he hadn’t really focused on until they had time to sit and ponder. The past few days had made that impossible, but then life had relented today.

“I don’t know,” Max told him. “I really don’t know. I may have no choice if this guy’s coming for us.”

He had no illusions to who they were up against. “How do we stop him?” Connor asked in just over a whisper. There was no reason to disbelieve what Max had described: The Yatagarasu, someone who could somehow time travel in a way far surpassing her own skill, someone who could bend time to their will. And he wanted Connor’s power to end the world.

“That’s what I don’t know,” Max said. “The only way to stop him is through our own powers. I’m nowhere near his level, but could I be?”

“You said you’d help me understand my powers,” Connor continued, patting her on the arm. “Who says I can’t help you in return?”

“Connor,” she sniggered. “I love the support but…” she stopped speaking, as if she realized who she was speaking to. Max readily turned to Connor and grabbed hold of his wrist. He was surprised by the gesture, but as soon as the world around him began to change, he realized she had rewound again. His brain wanted to panic as nothing in front of him appeared real. The sun setting on the horizon darkened and permeated all at the same time. The waves moved backwards against one another. He felt tingly, his vision blurry until they were sitting back on the beach. Ostensibly, nothing had changed and it had to be only a minute or so before. “Okay. Maybe you _can_ help.”

“Maybe,” Connor clutched his chest. “I’ll need to get over that anxiety, first. How come this has never come up with Chloe?”

“I’ve never tried rewinding like this before,” Max said, staring at her own hands. “I guess I’ll give it a try with her, too.” Connor watched the brunette’s freckled face switch from confusion to determination. “Who are you smiling at?”

“You,” Connor said brazenly. “You aren’t bleeding this time.” The photographer’s cheeks turned slightly red and she broke eye contact with the brunet. “Hey! That’s good, right?”

He had expected some level of flustering out of Max as he commented. He had wholly meant it in a cutesy, well-being sort of way. The fact that she was using her powers healthily meant she was out of the danger zone, but Max continued by staring up at the sky above him with a quivering lip. He turned to see exactly what was scaring her and then his jaw dropped.

It was the middle of March, spring time. There was no way that he could be witnessing what he saw. Connor watched a snow flake land on his arm as they began to touch down on the beach. He shot Max a quick glance and saw the fear in her eyes, the absolute alarm on her face; Max’s mouth was agape, her breath labored. Connor thought it was initially awesome but Max’s panic drained that from him fast.

“Max! Are we all okay?” shouted Chloe. Connor spun around fast to see the punk, her hands outstretched to touch the snow. “Holy shit, it’s happening again?” Aubrey and Hyram were just as shocked, with the editor staring up puzzled while Hyram brushed some of it off of his shoulders.

Max stood up fast and took several steps backwards, breathing deeply. Suddenly, she looked like she was going over a thousand years of wisdom as her face became studious. If she was deep in thought, Connor wasn’t going to interrupt her. He stayed close by as Chloe marched down through the sand and tapped Max on the shoulder. “Max,” she said, pulling Max around by her shoulders. “Can you talk to me right now? Are we okay?”

“I don’t know,” Max finally said. “It might have been caused by all the time bending I’ve done since we got here.” She shook her head as if stuck in a trance and then stared straight at Connor. “Hey. Did you do this?”

“I don’t think I did?” Connor shrugged. “This was caused by the entropy, wasn’t it?”

“Chaos theory,” Max cursed. “I think so,” Max said. “The last time this happened was the same day I had my vision and got these powers. Just thinking that it’s happening again is scary.”

Connor looked up at the darkening sky, feeling the light snow land on his face. It was about to get a whole lot colder tonight, in both mood and temperature.

“I bet Connor could get rid of this,” Hyram said, still fascinated with the snow. “For real, dude. You could totally stop this.”

“Don’t make it worse,” Chloe cut him off, looking over her shoulder while keeping her hands on a worried Max.

“Don’t knock it until you try it,” Hyram muttered.

“I have tried it,” said Connor. “Wasn’t fun at all. Although...” What if this time, he just _did_ it? Connor raised his hands into the air, feeling that rush of warmth he had felt twice now. _Okay, how the fuck did I do this last time?_ He closed his eyes and relaxed his body. Connor’s breathing became attuned to his pulse, and he began to picture the air around them as if it was an item he could reach out and touch. He went farther than that and pictured the clouds as movable objects. All of a sudden, he felt like he was flying. Within an instant, Connor focused solely on the clouds, wanting them to transform. He opened his eyes as the breeze hit them with the force of a storm without the rain. The snow flakes that had been falling were blown across the beach and the clouds above them dissipated on their own. This was an undeniable thrill, and Connor want to shout for joy. He finally had a grasp on his powers. “Okay, that one was definitely me,” he whispered.

“Fuckin’ Atmo-man over here!” Hyram threw a hand out dismissively. “I told you!” _The guy who had to see me blow open sealed bunker to believe I had powers is now cheering me on._ The editor was slightly shaken and reasonably so, though Connor shot her a quick nod to signify that he had indeed done it.

“Cool,” Chloe said, annoyed. “You made it go away. That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“Sorry, I just took advantage of the moment,” Connor apologized. “Max wasn’t looking good and I figured getting rid of it might help.”

“You need to understand that the last time I saw this, our home was destroyed,” Max replied finally, as Chloe and Connor turned their attention back to the time traveler. “It was still caused by us, and that’s all the more reason why we have to be fucking careful with these abilities.”

“I know, Max,” Connor said. “Don’t have to tell me twice. We’ll be as careful as can be.”

“Imagine how us normal people feel,” Aubrey remarked steadily. “I have to go home and pretend like this shit didn’t happen.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Chloe coldly said. “I need another beer. If we’re getting hit by another storm, I at least want to be _wasted_.”

Connor didn’t know where his life would take him. He didn’t know what these powers would do for him. He didn’t know where this friendship with Max would go. He had no idea what the Yatagarasu was or why they wanted to use him to end the world. There were so many questions that he had about the future. But one thing was certain: As long as he had Aubrey, Hyram, Max, and Chloe around for backup, the Yatagarasu would get their ass kicked. Connor, along with Max, would ensure that whatever awful plan they were cooking up would fail. They had to take care not to destroy the world themselves, of course. Suddenly, Connor felt that the days beyond weren’t nearly as scary as he had thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've got one more left, ladies and gentleman. Stay tuned!


	21. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

 

Chloe held the steering wheel and kept her foot on the gas pedal as they sped to the outskirts of their dead home town. Between the police and the news vans stalking the area, keeping a low profile had been difficult. It was difficult to stomach that this visit was almost over. Even admitting that all the traveling gave her a sense of wanderlust was difficult, too. It felt like eons since Chloe had just sat in the driver’s seat and taken a road trip, and even if it was back to this town, she had found comfort in the journey. Not the other parts, of course, such as the stakes, or her time traveling girlfriend’s unintended deception, but the general feel of mobility. Even if they didn’t have the cash, a reminder of their mobility always helped. The punk was smart enough to know she couldn’t simply run away from her problems, but the fact that she could do it, as in, physically take the wheel and go from one side of the state to the other, was reassuring. _So long as this trusty steed doesn’t break down on me any time soon._

“This has been so insane,” Chloe looked away from the empty seaside road to Max, while the brunette stargazed. Of all their memories of Arcadia Bay, this last destination was the place of greatest importance to them both. Had someone asked Chloe what her favorite spot had been two years ago, her answer would have been the junkyard or anywhere _but_ the town. Chloe’s younger self wouldn’t have believed what life had had in store for her. “You didn’t know this was going to happen either.”

“I changed fate,” Max let out gradually, her eyes on the heavens. “We know what happens when I do that. I’m still bracing for it.” It was very obvious to Chloe that Max was internalizing her stress. The snowstorm in the middle of spring had been just as bizarre as that day she and Max were reunited. _The day it all started._ They already had a plethora of other shit to worry about but there was something that had been eating away at Chloe since the Yatagarasu conversation on the beach.

“So you’re not gonna ghost on me and forget this all happened, right?” Chloe asked carefully with a lilt. Max turned away from the window and reached out, touching Chloe’s cheek. The punk felt Max’s cold fingers trace her face and she let out a breath, soothed. Everything was going to be alright, although if Max kept this up, Chloe might be lulled to sleep and drive off the road.

“I can’t go back,” Max told her. “I’m here to stay. I’m not sure why it hasn’t happened, but even if I did go back there’s still a chance that we all die.” Chloe loved hearing her say that she wasn’t going anywhere but that didn’t help with her concern or the end of her last thought. Poor Max was still worried about consequences unknown to them and the world. When it came to Max jumping back in time in past instances, she would blank out moments afterward and remember nothing that she had done or said. Chloe distinctly recalled having to fill Max in on everything the time traveler had said to her from outside of the Vortex Club the day before the storm. Of course, there were other reason why she was worried, but those thoughts weren’t nearly as engrained in her memory. Her fingers were far too distracting for Chloe to have deeper thought. _Seriously, if I don’t tell her to stop, we might have to pull over and cuddle right here._ Max’s sudden lack of confidence in herself was unsettling, and since she had been far more brave in the past few days Chloe couldn’t let that one go even if they were soon to have the big talk.

“I thought this trip was you traveling to ground zero of the apocalypse thing to stop everything from going wrong.” Chloe was confused by Max’s excessive caution and as Max withdrew her hand from Chloe’s chin, the punk’s face felt lonesome and craved for more. _Just wait until we get back to LA. I’m going to make her breakfast that could give my mom a run. If we have time, fuck._ They both had taken the week off, and Chloe’s employers were far more forgiving than Max’s. It was just another one of many problems they had to deal with in life. Instead of snuggles, Chloe and Max got struggles.

“I’m not convinced any of this is over,” Max replied after a while of silence. “Connor, the Yatagarasu—”

“Time Prick is two syllables and much more deserving,” Chloe asserted, an annoyed smirk settling on her face. She wasn’t going to spend the next year saying that name every time they spoke about them. Max smiled, giving Chloe the victory she’d been aiming for.

“There could be way more of us out there,” Max said. “If I’m not strong enough to fight Time Prick, what if we tried reaching out?”

“Like how?” Chloe inquired. “Hi, my name is NoirAngel and I’m a Chrononaut. Looking for applicants to join my super team.” Max shook her head at Chloe.

“First,” she raised an index finger, “I’m not assembling a Justice League. Second, the internet’s not a crazy idea at all.”

“Max, I got an email last week telling me I’m inheriting a Bosnian chicken farmer’s fortune. If you won’t sound crazy, you’ll find crazies,” Chloe chided. “Although, Supermax and Atmo-man versus Time Prick would make an awesome comic.”

“Wowser,” Max coughed, covering her mouth. Chloe leaned across the center console and eyed her photographer.

“You have not said that since we left the Bay,” Chloe told her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m amazeballs,” mocked Max, prompting Chloe to let go of the wheel and pinch the brunette. _I do_ not _sound like that._ She put up minimal resistance, trying to push Chloe’s hands away and a coy, “quit it!” After this week, Chloe was so happy to make moments like this. She had definitely noticed more than just negative differences in her girlfriend since she had time jumped—Max was far more grounded and assertive, as well as skilled in other areas _. Some of which are intruding on my cute thoughts. Go away._

“I’m still worried. I know, dumb for me to say because who isn’t? You just dropped to the ground in the middle of that field, and Connor got to you first. I was so busy rushing down into the Dark Room to get Detective Wright free… And you still have blanks from that memory, too.”

“They’re coming back to me slowly. I’m going to tell you everything I can, like we promised.” Chloe didn’t mind if Max took her time, for now. Once they were to the lighthouse, that’s when the questions would need answering. With the lighthouse still a ways out, they had time. They always had time, with Max. Although, Chloe still couldn’t shake that creepy feeling she had gotten when Max described how this other time traveler had somehow manifested in front of her. This was not a god-like being who was out to change the universe, Chloe knew better than that. Like any person, they had to have personality quirks, weaknesses, flaws. They had to be a person capable of hurting others without remorse. A _real_ psychopath. Connor might think he was a planet killer at heart, but he was nothing like Time Prick.

“Don’t sweat it too hard, babe,” Chloe said. “Tell me when the rest comes to you. We’ve still gotta get our lives back on track after this is all done with.”

“Yes, but I’m not sure how possible that is now,” said Max, cynically, though Chloe knew she was also being realistic.

“It’s totally possible, but not easy I guess,” Chloe answered, yawning. _What time is it?_ The digital clock on her radio had stopped working a while ago, but they were on a relatively peaceful road. Chloe moved to pull her phone out of her pocket and shoot a quick glance at the lock screen. She never had thanked Ryan and Vanessa Caulfield for covering their phone bill. _Alright, eight-thirty. We’ve got hella time._

“Whoever the Yatagarasu is, if they’re really a time traveler too, they’re a threat to everybody.” Chloe sighed and gave Max a bittersweet glare. After everything that had happened to her and Max, were they going to look over their shoulders for the rest of their lives? Chloe thought that’d be utter bullshit and so unfair but then again, when had life ever been fair to her? She’d lost everyone except for Max, and now Chloe was taking care of the broken time traveler with an omnipotent asshole trying to kill her. This was one of those days where she wished Rachel was still around. Even if the circumstances would be strange, Rachel would be just as much of a guardian angel as Max.

“That’s what you learned, huh?” Chloe probed, keeping the flow of conversation.

“That’s what I know. It doesn’t make sense otherwise. I didn’t dream this bullshit, Chloe.” Max looked up at her, brows scrunched. “This guy’s got a plan and I’m somehow his adversary in a bunch of other realities. He said as much.” Chloe didn’t know what to say to any of this, because it was truly a game changer. Going back to their life in a shitty LA apartment would never be the same if Max was forced to play hero despite the fact that she wasn’t one.

“I know you’ll be careful, Max. You wouldn’t have come back three years if you weren’t being careful,” Chloe said, watching Max wince. Chloe was still sore about the diner revelation but she would get over it, eventually. It hadn’t been her intention to sting Max as much as it sounded like it had. “I’m sorry, Max.” Very soon, she had a feeling she’d have a lot more to be upset over anyway.

“It’s not just the memory loss that makes talking about things hard Chloe, but I promise it won’t be a problem.”

“I know, Max,” she told the brunette, resting a hand on Max’s thigh as she drove. “We’re going to patch things up. We always have.”

The next ten minutes were calm, with an equally calm acoustic song coming from the local radio station Chloe had missed dearly after leaving for Portland. Max would occasionally exchange glances with the punk but always ended up glued to the beach side view. Chloe allowed her own thoughts to drift to random things, such as what Hyram was going to do when he got home or whether Aubrey would conform or have a style rebellion. Some of Chloe’s coworkers had texted her to see if she was alright due to the last minute time off request, and she’d have to deal with that sooner or later. Even Claire, the bitch of a former manager, had checked in on her. _Unbelievable. She’s like Victoria Chase if she had five more years to hone her tongue._ While Chloe tried not to recall dead faces from Blackwell Academy, Victoria certainly lived on in Claire.

“Hey! Hey Max,” Chloe perked up, remembering something not quite as serious as talk of multiverse villains. As Max turned to face Chloe, she grinned widely at Max. “Hey _Maaaaax_. You never told me! Who’s the next President of the United States, my little time traveler?”

As if it hurt for her to even think about it, Max clutched her head. Scoffing, she said, “Chloe, do you really want to know?”

“Dude, yes! Stop beating around the bush and tell me. The suspense is killing me!” Chloe knew nothing other than who had teased possible presidential runs. It was a non-question that Clinton was planning a White House bid, and there was talk of _another_ Bush running, and then some senator from Texas she’d never heard of.

“Donald. J. Trump,” Max said, almost shuddering as she mentioned his name. Chloe let off the gas pedal, rolling her shoulders back into the driver’s seat. It took her several moments to even remember who the hell that guy was, and she shot Max the most incredulous look she’d ever given.

Trying to form words, Chloe finally said, “W-What?” Chloe was dumbfounded as to how some super rich real estate mogul who ranted about conspiracies on the internet could be elected president. “How?”

“Trust me, honey. Everyone will be saying the same thing,” Max closed her eyes and laid back in the corner of the seat. “It’s another story for another time, but the country had a conniption.”

“Thank god you’re correcting the timeline then, right?” Chloe quipped. “Jesus Christ, maybe you are right! This chaos theory shit might be the reason why!”

“You’re so full of shit!” Max jested, laughing. “But seriously? There were weird inconsistencies popping up. It felt like we were on some kind of abnormal curve, like… things like the beached whales and strange lights in the sky happened. People were reporting things that weren’t there. Strange weather patterns, earth quakes, we even had this huge hurricane hit Los Angelos. You and I went two weeks without power. It was so shitty.”

“Holy shit,” Chloe remarked. “When did that happen?”

“Around August. Next August,” Max replied. “It was in the eighties that whole month and then all of a sudden, we had a category two hurricane form within a week and make landfall. I was terrified, Chloe. Weird political stuff kept happening globally, too. Although, when you study history, I guess it’s always been this insane.”

“Max, relax,” Chloe told her girlfriend. These revelations sounded pretty scary on the surface, but Chloe wanted to wait until they were at their spot before delving into all of the crazy time travel stuff. “We’ve got all the time in the world to figure it out. You still haven’t realized where we’re going, yet?”

“Oh,” Max’s eyes widened as she cocked her head to stare at the surrounding landscape. “I’ve kind of been focused just on us.”

“You’ll remember,” Chloe told her, her focus returning to the wheel. “You and I made a promise to visit our favorite spot one last time.”

“I do remember,” Max said after what appeared to be recollection settled on her face. With that, she brightened up considerably. “I can’t wait.”

Chloe took in the smell of pine as she held Max’s hand, ascending the old path—though at this rate, Chloe could hardly call the overgrowth a path—up to the lighthouse. They mindlessly had taken this trip so many times that for once, she absorbed every detail around them. Pieces of sheet metal, the upturned picnic tables and pieces of metal from an unknown building had been scattered across the forest. The old rusty metal gate to the main area was gone entirely, along with most of the perimeter fence. She couldn’t wait to get to the top and see that view again, and she saw the quickening pace and excitement creeping across Max’s face. The two of them still had a myriad of good in their hearts for this place. At the same time, Chloe could see reservation in Max’s eyes. They both had shared what they had thought would be their last moment in Arcadia Bay embracing one another as the tornado wiped out the town at this very spot. Her hand squeezed the brunette’s and she marched faster up the path, prompting Max to walk a little faster too, and then Chloe again until they were practically jogging. This had to be the most other-worldly place on the face of the Earth for Max and Chloe.

Even if Chloe had known the bench at the top wouldn’t be there, she was still disappointed to find it gone again. Now, standing over the cliff face that was older than Arcadia Bay itself and beside half a lighthouse that had served as a beacon of hope in a world of shit, Chloe pulled Max by her hands into an intimate hug. Chloe took in the infatuating warmth of her partner and slowly, as Max moved her hands up from Chloe’s shoulders to her face, the punk tilted her head, closed her eyes, and kissed Max. Her lover’s lips were warm and soft, and Chloe felt absolutely at home intertwining her body with the photographer’s. She was invincible in that moment and nothing could destroy their relationship.

“Oh, Max,” Chloe said into her ear. “I’m so glad you’re still here.”

“I told you. You are my number one priority,” Max reminded, nuzzling her face into Chloe’s neck. Chloe felt that spark that always reminded her of why she was still here. It was an unspoken bond but right now, words could not describe how much Chloe loved Max.

“I’ll never forget that. Scout’s honor,” Chloe told her as she loosened her grasp. “Now, I think it’s time we caught up.” The adoration and affection spilled to the back of her mind as she saw Max grow serious and, if Chloe wasn’t wrong, slight apprehension in the girl’s eyes. It was time to talk about the three years Max had spent with her in another reality, among many, many other things. Chloe plopped down on the edge of the cliff, allowing her feet to dangle off the edge and gestured for Max to sit down beside her.

Max told her everything. _Everything_. Every single piece of hidden knowledge, event, fact, and emotion Max could recall—which was difficult, given the fact that she still had gaps in her memory, but she persevered for Chloe’s sake. Max didn’t have a fresh recollection on things that had happened in the last two years as she had been swarmed with so many others. The hospital trip last October was far from Max’s mind, but Chloe vividly remembered the nightmares her girlfriend had. Suffering from recurring images of the Dark Room and Mark Jefferson coupled with the storm and Chloe’s death over and over, Max had been a wreck. But this was no longer that Max. This was a Max who had endured and survived all of that, and now that she was finally being open about all of it, Chloe was emotionally charged. It wasn’t sadness or anger, and not even joy. Chloe was just complete again, with the knowledge that Max and her were on the same level again.

“You really need to be careful smoking,” Max said, wiping tears from her eyes as Chloe caved and pulled her in for a tight hug.

“Why?” Chloe asked, rubbing Max’s shoulders.

“The shitty old lady next door reported us to our management office and we had to move back in with my parents. You made it worse because you tagged the interior to spite them.”

“I-I did what?” Chloe was baffled, but it was within her nature. “No shit, I legit sprayed the apartment?”

“Yep. And I lost my job because I attacked a coworker over sexual assault,” Max told her, the tinge of sadness always present. “Brett is an asshole.”

“You don’t work with a Brett yet, do you?” Chloe soothed the girl, slowly making her way up to Max’s unkempt hair.

“No, he won’t get the job until next year. The shit he got away with finally set me off one day.”

“Oh, wait. Wait,” Chloe sniggered. “That’s the name you gave to the hotel manager!”

“It was,” Max said, grinning despite the melancholic mood. “Helped me sell the story.”

“I’ll be sure to beat his ass if he so much as smiles at you wrong this time,” Chloe promised, resting her cheek on the top of Max’s head. “God, you’re a fucking trooper Max.”

“I’m a survivor,” she replied. “I’ve always been a survivor.” Chloe simply held her, as she cried out of relief that there were no more secrets or lies, no more fears of hurting each other’s feelings. They had finally talked about Arcadia Bay, about how they felt, about _everything_. Fuck it, Chloe was far beyond happy. She was fucking ecstatic.

“Now imagine what we can accomplish together,” Chloe laughed, sniffling. “I finally feel like we’re kids again. None of this pity party crap we’ve had. I feel a _live_.” While in Chloe’s tight hug, Max moved her face to stare up at Chloe. The punk returned the stare, tapping the top of Max’s nose with a finger. Unexpectedly, Max scrunched her eyes and pulled away from their cuddle. Chloe frowned at her girlfriend, leaning her head down toward the cliff face. “What’s up, Max?”

“I need to tell you something I couldn’t talk about around the others,” the time traveler said. “I didn’t tell you everything about the Yatagarasu. I’ve been trying to word it right.” _Thanks, Max. Anxiety boost, here goes._ Chloe hated when people did this, and even Max wasn’t immune to it.

“I’m listening,” said Chloe, putting her hands in her lap.

“When all the people from my past were summoned, Rachel was in the mix. She wasn’t like the others. She was _real_ , as in, _right ther_ e next to the Yatagarasu.”

Max was right to try word this correctly. The last thing Chloe needed to hear was that some asshole used the image of Rachel to fuck with them, but as she listened intently to Max she realized that her girlfriend thought it was much more than simple imagery. “She spoke to me, spoke down to me. Called me a hypocrite. And she looked so much older than all of the pictures I’d seen. Chloe, I,” she stammered, “it really felt like Rachel was alive, and she _hate_ d me.” The violet-haired punk could see how scared Max was; not only was she afraid of telling Chloe, she was afraid of this apparition of Rachel. It bothered the absolute shit out of Chloe to see Max this terrified of what could have been an illusion made by Time Prick.

“I’d love to pay this guy a visit and shove my foot up his ass for using Rachel against you like that!” Chloe seethed. “Neither of you deserve this garbage.”

“Chloe, you don’t get it. This wasn’t a figment of my imagination. This was Rachel Amber.”

“We dug up her fucking body. It can’t be Rachel!” Chloe knew this was going nowhere fast and if she didn’t at least calm down, she’d have another rage episode. With a deeply expressed sigh, she shook her head. “How could it be possible?”

“We aren’t the only timeline in the universe,” Max stated roughly. “The Yatag—”

“Fuck them, Max! Don’t use a title of respect. Call them what they are, a fucking prick!”

“They could have pulled her out of any number of timelines! The bottom line is, I swear to you, that Rachel was a real person in the frozen timespace with me and that bastard!”

“So what, Max?” Chloe asked her bluntly. “So what if he summoned a Rachel from another reality? I still love you, is that what you need to hear? If Rachel showed up at our door right now, it changes nothing. The real Rachel wouldn’t hate or talk down to you, Max. Fuck all of this.” Chloe pushed herself away from the cliff face, getting to her feet and marching over to a tree stump that had survived the storm. She turned to see Max timorously watching her.

“Chloe, I’m sorry,” Max apologized. _Jesus, Max. You didn’t do a damn thing wrong!_ The punk went down on a knee and pointed to an old wood carving in the tree, dated 2008.

“Remember when we put this here? Pirate BFF’s? It sat here the entire time I was with Rachel. I never touched it, and Rachel respected that. She never asked to be added.” Chloe removed the knife from her pocket and began carving away. “No matter how much you leaving for Seattle hurt, Rachel never once said a bad word about you. Ever! God, even when I wanted her to get fucking mad over you, she would always calm me down over it. The shit you saw in that nightmare is scary, I admit that. But there’s no fucking way that Rachel would want to hurt you.” After a moment of dedication, Chloe had added 2015 to the carving. “Here. 2008 to 2015. Maybe in seven years, we’ll come back and add to it again.”

“Just answer me this,” Max had stood up from the edge of the cliff and moved behind Chloe. Her head was lowered and she was still choked up. Even from the ground, Chloe hated seeing Max that way. “Would you want to look for her if she was alive and here?”

“I don’t know,” was the only thing Chloe could muster. The question was a haymaker, one she hadn’t even considered. Her gut said hell yes, but her mind put up some serious roadblocks to that. If this was a Rachel from another reality, it wasn’t _her_ Rachel. If they showed animosity to Max, it definitely wasn’t her Rachel. On the contrary, though, it was still possible that Time Prick intended to use Rachel against them in some way. “Max, do you realize Rachel’s the reason we are together? If I hadn’t put up those missing persons fliers on campus that day, I wouldn’t have saved you from Nathan.”

“Sometimes,” Max said, holding on to her shoulder with one arm. “I’d follow you across the universe even if it meant reuniting you with Rachel. I’m nothing without you.” Max pulled her heartstrings in such a way that Chloe felt too weak to stand up. Staring up at Max, her eyes swelling, Chloe couldn’t speak. “You could’ve done so much better than me, Chloe. Rachel always sounded like the person who you needed the most. Even if I can’t compete with that, I’d be happy no matter what just to see you happy.”

“Max,” Chloe cried. “Get down here already, you fucker. Get down here!” Max collapsed on to the ground and threw her arms around Chloe. “I really fucking love you. I love you so much. I wish you’d stop dumping on yourself because you’re the one who could do better. I ruined your fucking life, Max! You gave everything up so I could live. How do _I_ live with that?”

“I’d do it again,” Max declared, trembling in Chloe’s grasp. “If that makes me a horrible monster, I don’t give a fuck.”

“You’re a monster and I’m a loser,” Chloe couldn’t stop crying. “Jesus Christ, Max. You’re all I have and I’m all you have. That’s terrifying. Aren’t you terrified?”

“Of course it is, but I’m not changing it for anything. I know it’s late, Chloe, but,” she felt Max digging into her pocket. “Happy late birthday.”

 _Oh my god._ Chloe raspily exhaled. “I forgot my own fucking birthday.” As she stared at the puffy-eyed brunette on the ground in her arms, Max picked up one of her hands and slid a shiny metallic ring onto it. _What? Max?_ Her stomach had never felt so many butterflies flapping around at once, and Max took advantage of her dumbstruck face by kissing the punk, pulling her straight onto the ground. Once again, Chloe was on top of the world. Max had been holding all of this in for so long, how could Chloe ever get pissed off with this woman? One kiss turned into another until they were sharing a beautiful moment unlike anything the two of them had done in the last two traumatic years. On the lighthouse cliff, overlooking the city they had destroyed together, this should have felt sickening. Instead, it felt liberating. She still couldn’t believe how much she fucking loved Max Caulfield.

Once the passionate display ceased, Chloe couldn’t stop smiling. “You skipped the proposal, Max. I never had a chance to say no.”

“Relax, you sappy geek!” Max pushed her in the chest, and Chloe giggled. “It’s just a promise ring.” _Oh._ “Chloe, it’s not a bad thing. Don’t look so down all of a sudden.” Max asked of her, coming up next to her face and pecking her right on the cheek. Chloe had been winded by the whole ordeal, but promise ring or not, she had never been more fulfilled by someone.

“Max, did you plan this all along? Did you know when you jumped that you were going to do this?”

“I decided on it the day I came to from that selfie two weeks ago,” Max told her, giving a smile back. “I should’ve done this on your birthday but I was struggling with getting my memories straight. I’d never done a time leap for this long. Can you forgive me?” In truth, Chloe had considered doing something similar for Max on her next birthday, but the sheer fact that she had been so out of energy and depressed that she had completely lost track and forgotten her own birthday was disheartening.

“Max, your timing has been impeccable.”

“Say that again, slowly,” Max laughed. “You’re insane.”

“No, what would be insane is making out on the top steps of a destroyed lighthouse,” Chloe motioned with her brows, shooting Max bedroom eyes. Max’s gaze hardened, taking Chloe’s hand and pulling it to her chest.

“I don’t care what happens. I’m never leaving you. I’ll always be with you.”

They got off of the ground, Chloe helping Max to her feet. Taking her by the other hand and grasping it tightly, Chloe kissed Max on the forehead. The moon was shining brightly down upon them, and Chloe couldn’t have asked for a better reconciliation. “Forever,” Chloe promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it. The final chapter of Days Beyond. It's been one hell of a journey since I started writing this back in February. Can you believe it's only been that long? I appreciate every single one of you who stuck around for the journey. I've fallen in love with all of these characters as I've written them, and I can only hope they've pulled at your emotions if I've done it right. Stay tuned for the sequel, "Sacrifice Reality".
> 
> Also, I made reference to Donald Trump in this epilogue in a very apolitical but in-character way. Nothing written was objectively wrong.


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